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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271280">a thrill of hope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireadfluffandtragedies/pseuds/ireadfluffandtragedies'>ireadfluffandtragedies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bokuaka - Freeform, Fluff, Gun trafficking, Heartwarming, M/M, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn (probably), Violence, Yakuza, akaashi is a florist so there's that, haikyuu meets criminal minds, how do i tag this accurately help, i have no idea how tags work and i haven't read another fic like this help, iwadai, kenhina - Freeform, kuroo is a forensic scientist, life or death, oisuga, oops if that might be a spoiler, rarepairs fight the mafia, suga is an investigative journalist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:34:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>47,888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireadfluffandtragedies/pseuds/ireadfluffandtragedies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"When people need help, I never refuse."<br/>"Even at the expense of your own life?"<br/>A sigh. "I will not be changing my mind, Oikawa. So don't hold your breath."<br/>"Koushi... how can you breathe?"</p><p>Investigative journalist Sugawara Koushi has been spending months trying to track down and expose what he believes to be an organisation smuggling guns into Japan. Oikawa Tooru has, to his great chagrin, been assigned to work with him as a photographer. What he expected to be a dull punishment for his misdemeanour becomes a headlong rush into situations of life and death, discovery of unlikely allies, hostage negotiations and love in the most unlikely place.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Iwaizumi Hajime/Sawamura Daichi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. tentative beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For your consideration, if you were somehow drawn to open this fic:<br/>Number one: This is my first fic (if you don't count the ridiculous excuses for imagines that I wrote at a tender and immature 15. which i don't.) So please bear with me if I stumble through the beginning.</p><p>Number two: I wanted to write an Oisuga fic, but I have no idea how to write purely romance, hence the action sub/main plot. I am going to endeavour to write a story that is in part light and heartwarming, but also terrifying. Hopefully I can do that. (without being cliché)</p><p>Thirdly: I really hope you like this, and that you will feel the things I try to convey. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You have got to be kidding me!” Oikawa could not believe what was happening. He was genuinely stunned. <br/>
“I’m sorry, Oikawa-kun.” He watched as the small man behind the desk pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an impatient sigh, a gesture that Oikawa recognised as the one that his superior frequently used when he was starting to lose patience with him. There was a determination to it and his stomach fell as he realised that this fight was over before he had even started to make his case.<br/>
“No, no!” Oikawa stood up with a force that shifted the office chair back, nearly tipping it over. “This is ridiculous! You cannot do this to me.” He frantically ran his hand through his hair. This was absurd. Through clenched teeth, he said as much.<br/>
“Takeda-sensei, this is completely unwarranted. There is no way you can take me from sports photography. This is my job, it is what I have <em>been</em> doing.” He clenched his fists to stop his tell-tale shaking.<br/>
Takeda sighed again and folded his hands, placing them on the desk. After a pause, he leaned forward and started speaking in an even voice. <br/>
“Oikawa.” The drop of the honorific his polite employer always used was jarring. Another breath, fingers lifted to rub his temple and an elongated exhale was released before he continued. “You verbally, and nearly physically, assaulted a man at a volleyball game. On national television.”</p>
<p>This was true, Oikawa had no way of talking around that. He had been assigned as the supervisor of the media team filming and photographing the finals game of the Japan Volleyball League. It was a big opportunity for him and one he was determined to do his utmost best in. He had always been passionate about sports, particularly volleyball, and when he had quit his professional career at the age of 24, he had immediately sought a way to keep in contact with that part of his life. Hence, sports photography. His work at the Mainichi Shimbun was fulfilling, he could be on the courts and fields, vicariously living through the players as they poured sweat, tears and sometimes even blood into their games. He took great pride in capturing the perfect moments on camera, his photographs laden with the emotions he himself felt when he was a sportsman. That is why, after only a year working at Mainichi Shimbun as a part of the sports photography team, he had felt a great surge of pride at being selected to be the supervisor at what was going to be a great sporting event. Determined to make a success of his work, Oikawa had shown up to the game in high spirits. They were not to last for very long though. Barely fifteen minutes into the game and Oikawa’s nerves had already frayed to their ends. There was a man who had been heckling one of the teams since the game had started. It was done loudly and purposefully, and it was infuriating. If Oikawa could hear it from all the way on the court, where shouts of “Here!”, “Nice serve!” and “Let’s go!” were constantly thrown about, then he was sure that the cameras were picking it up. What’s more, he knew it was extremely distracting to the players, even if they were professionals. After 10 more minutes of trying to ignore the obscene taunts coming from the man in the stands, he could take it no longer. Oikawa dropped everything and made his way to the voice, anger coursing through him. Once he had located the culprit, he had gripped the front of the man’s shirt, lifted him off the ground and shouted in his face exactly what he thought of him. In no uncertain terms and with words that made his frustration… clear. It did not take long for security to step in however, and Oikawa was dragged away, his fingers still flashing an obscenity to the now thoroughly intimidated heckler. The cherry on top was that the whole ordeal was caught on film. By his very own crew. Thus, the current conversation with Takeda, the editor of the newspaper he worked for.</p>
<p>“He was disrupting the game. It was rude, completely uncalled for and nobody was doing anything about it! Unprofessional and unacceptable. Why should I lose my job because of that fuckhead?” Oikawa slammed his hand on the desk, pens and papers jolting with the impact. <br/>
Takeda remained impassive. <br/>
“Unless you want your statement concerning the victim to become <em>your</em> reality, Oikawa Tooru, I suggest you calm down. Your current conduct is exactly that which you so supposedly abhor.” The firm words were laced with finality and when Oikawa looked into Takeda’s eyes staring at him through his glasses, he knew he had taken it a step too far.<br/>
“Your pride is your hubris and unless you can get it under control, I suggest you leave. I have put up with you because you are a talented photographer, but do not mistake your utility for irreplaceability.”<br/>
Oikawa felt the tension leave his body at the heavy threat, and slumped back into the chair he had vacated. He was never one to admit defeat, but this was not a volleyball game with points he could keep fighting for. He could lose his job and after his actions were caught and broadcast live, finding a new one would most likely prove to be a significant struggle. No one wants to hire a temperamental photographer struggling to control his own anger. <br/>
He pushed his hair back from his forehead, sighed and focused his gaze back on Takeda. Hard brown eyes pinned him down for an extended amount of time, likely testing his resolve and patience after the outburst. </p>
<p>“If you have calmed down then.” The tone in Takeda’s voice unshaken. <br/>
Oikawa nodded. <br/>
“Alright then.” Takeda picked up the papers that had shifted on his desk and started thumbing through them. He pulled a paper from the pack and slid it over the desk to Oikawa. <br/>
“Firstly,” he raised a single finger into the air, “we cannot ignore your outburst. Officially, we are giving you a disciplinary warning.” He cocked an eyebrow at the young man, daring him to retort. Oikawa gave no reaction, choosing to keep the hostility he felt at bay. Seemingly satisfied with this, Takeda continued. He raised another finger.<br/>
“Secondly, even though you have just made your feelings on this matter clear,” the bite in his voice was clear, “you will no longer be operating within the sports department.” <br/>
Oikawa started to open his mouth in the beginning of a protest, but yet another pointed look from Takeda shut him up. <br/>
“Your emotions are considered unstable, by those greater than me that oversees employee conduct,” Takeda said with a smug tug at the corner of his lips. “Fortunately for you though, your abilities and successful portfolio up until now is saving your skin. You will merely be reassigned.”<br/>
Takeda pulled open a drawer next to him and removed a file. He opened it and glanced over its contents before holding it out to Oikawa. Oikawa took it, feeling the heft of the paper in his hands. Because it was hefty. Certifiably thick. <br/>
Curiosity piqued, he glanced up at Takeda, who was now looking at him with a bemused expression on his face. <br/>
“The file of one Sugawara Koushi.”<br/>
Oikawa opened the file and was greeted with a picture of a man who seemed to be around his own age. Gray hair and brown eyes that had somehow been able to convey a soft expression in the face of a camera lens. Despite the lack of a smile on this man’s face, there was a disarming lightness to him. He was handsome, but apart from his interesting hair colour, he seemed utterly unremarkable. When Oikawa’s eyes scanned the rest of the page however, his brows creased into a frown.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sugawara Koushi</em><br/>
<em>Place of Birth: Miyagi Prefecture</em><br/>
<em>26 years old</em><br/>
<em>Graduated Cum Laude with a degree specialised in Criminal and Forensic Psychology</em><br/>
<em>Masters in Investigative Journalism</em><br/>
<em>Notable Works:</em>
</p>
<p>The rest of the paper was a blur as the list of achievements filled it. Who is this man? Oikawa flipped through the file. It was composed of clippings of newspaper articles along with a multitude of other documents that Oikawa assumed was the more detailed version of what ended up on the printed pages. Lifting his eyes, he searched Takeda’s face, that same bemused expression now mixed with something that felt like self-satisfaction.<br/>
“This is supposed to mean something to me?” Oikawa inquires, not quite asking, but not stating either. <br/>
“Meet your new supervisor.” Takeda said, and Oikawa could swear the glint in his eyes was mischievous. Now he understood why Takeda was so amused, and he felt pissed off all over again. <br/>
“I’m… going to play photographer for an investigative journalist.” Oikawa said, choosing his words carefully. He saw Takeda suppress a grin as he bent his head and pushed his glasses up his nose. <br/>
“Precisely.”<br/>
“You have got to be kidding me.” The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them, but he was not bothered. “I’m going to be his PA is more like it.”<br/>
“Perhaps.” Takeda had regained his composure. “If that is what Sugawara deems you fit for, that is what you will do for the foreseeable future. It is likely, though, that you will be asked to tag along on his investigative inquiries and photograph evidence. Among other things.”<br/>
Oikawa groaned internally. <br/>
Takeda must have possessed mind-reading abilities because his voice resumed its no-nonsense tone as he continued the brief introduction,<br/>
“Even though you are the same age, he is your superior in every way. You are at his beck and call, you will address him as Sugawara-<em>senpai</em>, even if it kills you.” The glare that came with the emphasis on the honorific sent chills down Oikawa’s spine and he mentally kicked himself for landing himself this predicament. <br/>
Oikawa closed the still open file, placing it in his lap. Takeda nodded, although it did not seem like he was nodding at Oikawa. <br/>
Oikawa mulled over the instructions he received. In the back of his mind, he heard one of the office doors open and close, the ringing telephones and the shuffling of papers in the workspace outside of the editor’s office.<br/>
This was going to be soul crushingly mundane, he could feel it. Playing hound to this sub-par detective who probably spends his time annoying the people who actually catch criminals in hope of a ‘good scoop’.<br/>
“Is this how you plan to tame me, Takeda-sensei? By handing me over to the personification of the colour beige in the hopes to cultivate docility?” The words came as a sneer.<br/>
Takeda gave a sigh and dropped his face in his hands. Oikawa looked at him quizzically. What - </p>
<p>“Well that is a new one. I’ve never been compared to a colour. I’ve always felt like a light blue though, if I had any say in the matter.”<br/>
Oikawa did not need to turn to the sound to know to whom the soft voice belonged, and in that moment he wished the floor would swallow him whole.<br/>
Seconds that felt like hours passed before Oikawa faced the presence that he could now feel next to him.<br/>
Smiling down at him, the same smile he first saw in the file now on his lap, was the face of Sugawara Koushi. Brown eyes twinkled from behind round, clear framed glasses. The face they belonged to seemed too young to have the achievements Oikawa had read about moments ago behind them, but the longer he gaped at the man in front of him, the more he realised there was a hardness juxtaposing the soft exterior. <br/>
A chuckle from the man himself shocked Oikawa out of his reverie. Remembering Takeda’s strict instructions to practically prostrate himself in front of the now somehow intimidating person of Sugawara, he quickly stood from his chair. Gathering his bearings, he gave a small bow. <br/>
“Oikawa Tooru. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Please take care of me, Sugawara-senpai.” he introduced himself when he straightened up.<br/>
Suga nodded in acknowledgement, the same smile still playing around his lips. <br/>
“Likewise, Oikawa-san. Dreadfully sorry that I will have to bore you for the next few months. Investigating the Japanese underworld isn’t volleyball, so I’m sure your life will be painted in shades of brown.” Oikawa did not miss the jab, but the way in which Suga had delivered his comment clearly was not meant to be petty in any way. He supposed this is what someone is like when they had full confidence in their own abilities, sarcastic comments from people like himself probably meant nothing.<br/>
Oikawa did not like the idea of being patronised by this soft-faced man his own age. There was no way he would let himself be overshadowed. Then a thought crossed his mind.<br/>
“The Japanese underworld?” He directed his words to Takeda, who seemed to have overcome the mortification of having one of his photographers insult a prolific figure in journalism.<br/>
“Yes, Oikawa-kun. Sugawara-san here will fill you in on what exactly he is occupying his time with at the moment, as I do not hold any of the particulars myself.” <br/>
He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. <br/>
“I suggest you acquaint yourself on your new superior’s line of work as soon as possible.” he said, pointing to the file that was now occupying Oikawa’s chair. <br/>
Oikawa glanced at the file, then at Suga, who flashed him another smile before turning to Takeda.<br/>
“Takeda-san, I assume this is why you called me here?”<br/>
“Yes, Sugawara-san. Sorry for the informal introduction.” Takeda glared at Oikawa.<br/>
Suga chuckled, a sound so honest that Oikawa was taken aback and had to stop himself before he started gawking at the silver-haired man once again.<br/>
“Don’t worry Takeda-san,” the ever-present smile still playing on his lips. He stretched out his arm and patted Oikawa’s shoulder. <br/>
“I’m sure Oikawa-san and I will get along famously, won’t we?”<br/>
Brown eyes stared right into his soul, unwavering. It was a challenge, it was an assurance, it was a gesture of trust. In spite of himself, all Oikawa could do was nod.</p>
<p>The elevator ride down to the bottom floor of the newspaper headquarters was a silent one. Oikawa had finally gotten over his initial shell shock at seeing Suga and was starting to feel more like himself. Suga, for all it was worth, had not said a word since they bowed their goodbyes to Takeda. When they stepped out into the cold winter air, Oikawa heard the man next to him give a sigh. Turning to him, he saw Suga push his glasses on his head, sweeping the silver hair back with it. Then he wrapped the light blue scarf he had been carrying around his neck. Suga then turned to face Oikawa, and Oikawa noticed the tip of Suga’s nose already turning pink in the winter air.<br/>
“Well, Oikawa-san.” a smile. Was it genuine? “I will see you on Monday then? Come to my office as soon as you arrive. I trust you can find it.”<br/>
“Yes, senpai.”<br/>
Sugawara laughed at that, his eyes crinkling shut. “Goodbye.” he gave a wave and walked away.<br/>
Oikawa stood there for a moment more, still thinking about the odd encounter. Hold on… did Suga have a mole under his left eye? </p>
<p>“I’m telling you! It’s absolute bullshit. Now I am stuck with this baby-faced man and, and get this: I have to call him <em>senpai</em>.” Oikawa scoffed, downing the rest of his beer in one gulp, before slamming the glass back down on the counter.<br/>
The man with the fiery hair behind the counter gave a barking laugh. <br/>
“You? Call someone senpai? After being demoted to a glorified lap dog? Are you actually going to do it?” He raised his eyebrows at Oikawa while cleaning a glass.<br/>
Oikawa rested his chin on his palm. <br/>
“I’m going to have to, Tendou. If I step outta line here, then,” he drew his thumb over his throat, “it’s bye-bye stability. At least my pay isn’t getting cut.”<br/>
“Hmm.” Tendou placed the glass on a shelf behind him before turning to face Oikawa again. <br/>
“And… what does he do again?”<br/>
The drink was starting to get to Oikawa, but he had come here to feel a little fuzzy anyway so it did not really bother him. <br/>
“He’s some or the other hot-shot investigative journalist or some shit. I swear he thinks he is a detective, going on about the Japanese underbelly.” <br/>
Tendou leaned back, arms crossed.<br/>
“What bullshit right? I mean we have some of the lowest crime rates in the world. Who does he think he is? Tintin? All he needs is an annoying dog and then the ensemble is complete.” Oikawa sighed, then lifted himself from the barstool. <br/>
“Anyway, Ten-chan, I’m off.” He pressed the money for his drinks onto the counter, which Tendou took with his slender fingers. <br/>
“Don’t give the man too much grief, hey?” Tendou called to the disappearing form of Oikawa. The only response he got was a half-hearted wave with the man’s back still towards him.</p>
<p>Thirty minutes of walking in the cold, dark night to his apartment  sobered Oikawa up considerably. Ignoring the really dodgy elevator he was sure was haunted, he climbed the 4 flights of stairs and unlocked his apartment door. Flicking on a light, Oikawa made his way to the kitchen of the place he had called home ever since he had moved to Tokyo. It was bigger than most apartments in this jam-packed city, a successful career as a volleyball player allowed him to buy a decent place in this metropolis. Turning on the kettle, Oikawa turned his attention to the damned file containing information he would much rather have gone his life without knowing. While he waited for his tea to brew, Oikawa started reading through the documents.</p>
<p>
  <em>Opium Ring - Exposed</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Korean Militants - Thwarted</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Rise and Fall of an Infallible Empire</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>American Extremists Threaten Security</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The foul root of Corruption</em>
</p>
<p>These titles and more sat swirling in Oikawa’s head. Detailed notes describing all of the findings made by this figure started to twist the idea of Suga that Oikawa initially held. At first glance, Oikawa had pinned him to be a  simple and annoying question poser however; he was metamorphosing into more and more of an enigma. This file contained the names and dates of drug busts, yakuza schemes exposed, terrorist attacks uncovered. Who on earth was Sugawara Koushi? Far from the mild-mannered first impression he had received, this file told the story of a practical, logical mind that risked their life to uncover truly harmful schemes and shed light on the dark of a country that seemed for all the world to be completely harmless. Apart from revealing, or perhaps it was covering, the true nature of Sugawara, there were other names that were frequently referenced. Most of them Oikawa was unfamiliar with, with the exception of Iwaizumi Hajime. His best friend from high school, if it was indeed the same man. They had lost contact after graduating, mostly because of a fall-out they had regarding Oikawa’s physical health, but it was more than enough to intrigue Oikawa even more. Before he knew it, the clock on the wall read 2 am, and Oikawa put his work to rest. <br/>
Lying in bed, Oikawa’s mind was consumed with the knowledge that he had just obtained. As he drifted off to sleep, the smiling face of Sugawara Koushi was at the forefront of his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. to know a man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*flustered thankful noises*<br/>thank you from the bottom of my heart for the comments and kudos on my first chapter.<br/>i hope you enjoy this one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s dark. The pitch black completely surrounds Oikawa. Wait, are his eyes even open? He closes them (probably) and then opens them again (possibly). The darks stays. Where is his body? He tries to touch his legs, but he cannot seem to find his arms. He lifts up what is supposed to be his hand, but is it even there? Is he sitting? He tries to stand on his not-there legs, but the not-there floor underneath him gives away and he is falling. Falling, falling. Panic presses on his chest. Only for a moment, because he suppresses the urge to scream. In his rational brain he knows one thing, to scream is to be weak. Screaming betrays the feeling of terror. He does not shy away from anything. <br/>“I am Oikawa Tooru.”<br/>It flashes through his mind (or is it simply consciousness?) like an affirmation.<br/>“I am Oikawa Tooru and -”<br/>His returning calm is cut off as he reaches the end of the fall with a hard, echoing thud.<br/>Echoing? <br/>Eyes adjust, there is light? Dim… but there is light. It looks like, wait. Can it be? Oikawa squints. Net? His hands conveniently regain their sense of touch and he feels the cold, familiar floor of a volleyball court. He looks down and, to his great surprise, he is wearing the Aoba Johsai volleyball uniform. How?<br/>In a flash of light, a spotlight beams down on the other side of the court, and Oikawa has to momentarily shield his eyes. He blinks again (definitely blinking now) and notices a figure. The glare is still too much for his light-starved eyes, but they are definitely moving towards him.<br/>“Hello?” He leans forward, “Hey, you there,” his eyes narrow to a squint, “who are you?”<br/>The silent figure stays that way and keeps walking with the same cadence. A beat of two feet, echoing. Closing the gap.<br/>With his now-there legs, Oikawa scrambles up onto his feet, straining his eyes to see the figure. The spotlight moves with them and the glare is still too harsh to make out distinctive features. However, as the figure comes slowly nearer, Oikawa’s eyes start to widen in… is it shock? Surprise? <br/>“Iwa… Iwa-chan?”<br/>Now almost completely visible, the figure of Iwaizumi comes to a standstill in front of the net, staring at Oikawa. </p><p>“Hey, Shittykawa.” Something like a sneer forms on his old best-friend’s face, and more so than when he was falling, or when he discovered the absence of his limbs, Oikawa’s heart starts to feel heavy with fear. <br/>“Hajime,” the weight of Iwa’s given name lays in his mouth, “I haven’t seen you in years.” is the only thing that he manages to get out, and he mentally kicks himself for the pleading tone that went along with it.<br/>Completely ignoring him, Iwaizumi starts to speak. <br/>“I heard you got demoted? What a joke. Look at you.” He spits on the floor next to where Oikawa stands and the silence that follows drums loudly in his ears. There is a malice in Iwaizumi’s eyes that makes him take a few steps back.<br/>“Iwaizumi, what are you on about?”<br/>A chuckle comes from deep within Iwaizumi’s chest. “Thus, pride comes to a fall.”<br/>He starts bouncing the volleyball in his hands on the floor.</p><p>
  <em>Bam</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Bam</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Bam</em>
</p><p>They ring like gunshots. Iwaizumi’s haunted laugh rings through the court like a death toll and fear grips Oikawa’s heart completely.<br/>“Iwa, Iwa-chan.” the pleading is no longer suppressed. He does not know what Iwaizumi is here to do, but there is a sinking feeling in his stomach as he looks at a man who clearly despises him. He knew they separated on bad terms, but he had always hoped they would find eachother again. Of course, he had always feared that Iwaizumi would come to detest him. In front of him stands his fear incarnate. He tries to swallow his fear, but like a pill taken with too little water, it sticks in his throat and nausea rises within him.</p><p>
  <em>Bam</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Bam</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Bam</em>
</p><p>The laughing cuts off without warning and Iwaizumi catches the ball in his hand. He ducks under the net, pinning a glare onto Oikawa.<br/>“You deserve everything that’s coming to you.” His words drip with hate and he spins the volleyball between his hands in a sickeningly familiar fashion. Then he tosses the ball straight up in the air, the projectile spinning, spinning, spinning for an eternity. Iwaizumi jumps, arm tensed and ready. The moment his hand connects with the ball seems to last forever. When it does, it shoots towards Oikawa with astonishing force. Oikawa sees the ball flying towards his face, but he remains rooted. With every ounce of his being he wills his legs to move, but to no avail. <br/>“Fuck, fuck MOVE.”<br/>He pulls at his legs,hits his thighs, looks up. The ball hits him square in the face, pain searing through his nose, his forehead, his eyes stinging, moisture forming in them. His neck whips back and the force knocks him on his back, a shooting pain travelling along his spine, the breath leaving his lungs.<br/>He does not give himself time to recover. With immense effort, he starts pushing himself up on his forearms.<br/>“Iwa-”<br/>He is cut off by a foot, pressing down on his chest, pressing him to the ground. He looks up, but instead of Iwaizumi dressed in the familiar Aoba Johsai aqua and white, it is someone else. <br/>Dressed in a volleyball uniform of black and orange, the vision of a dark angel. With the wings of a crow unfurled behind his back, casting everything in semi-darkness once again, the face of Sugawara stares back at him. A harbinger of something still unknown.<br/>“I have no use for a clipped crow.”<br/>The uncharastically harsh words pierce like knives as the wings on Sugawara’s back start flapping, a storm wind forming while the gray-haired man starts rising up in the air. With one final flap of the wings, a gust hits Oikawa’s face and -</p><p>With a jolt, Oikawa woke up. He turned to his bedside table and blinked, his real eyes this time, at the digital clock reading 6:05. With a groan, he rolled back onto his back, arm over his eyes. What the fuck was with that dream? He assumed it had a lot, or rather everything, to do with the previous night’s discovery that Sugawara is in some way affiliated with Iwa. Not to mention the whole embarrassing fiasco that took place. <br/>“Fifty million levels of fucked up.” He mumbled to himself and promptly decided that he needed to do something about his very muddled headspace. He dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and shuffled his way to the kitchen. <br/>Bare feet, cold tiles, the whirr of the coffee machine and the drip, drip of the caffeinated liquid.</p><p>Sipping on his coffee, Oikawa regarded the file that was still on the kitchen island. How in the world did green become a menacing colour? The papers he had worked through the previous night were still splayed out, their contents visible to the air. Who knew tension could exist between a human being and an inanimate object? He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands as he sighed. Yesterday made him on edge, and now that stupid dream that he had no intention of analyzing was bumping around in his brain. He needed to get rid of his frustration, and quickly. Downing the rest of his coffee, he gathered all of his gear and made his way out of the apartment in ten minutes flat, taking a brisk jog as the early lights of sunrise started to make their appearance over the towering buildings.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Beep beep beep beep beep</em>
</p><p>Suga brought his hand down on the ringing alarm clock with a slam. He sat upright and rubbed his eyes with his hands before stretching out his neck. Stretching his arms out above his head, he grunted and then made his way out of bed. After changing out of his pajamas, he rolled out a mat and started his morning mobility routine, internally rejoicing at the fact that he did not plan a run today. It was cold and he was not in the mood for freezing appendages. Then, a shower. He donned slim-fitting black cotton pants, a gray sweater that he tucked into them, and pulled a long olive-green, woollen trench coat over the ensemble. <br/>Stepping into the crisp morning, he resisted the urge to light a cigarette before having eaten and made his way down the street.</p><p>“Suga!” The orange-haired youth behind the counter exclaimed, a wide smile plastered all over his face as Sugawara stepped into the warm interior of the café. The smell of pastries and coffee beans hit his senses in a wave of comfort and the cold of the outside world was immediately forgotten. But then again, it always had this effect, at least on Suga. It must be said that a lot of it had to do with the person who owned the coffee shop. Suga looked at the animatedly waving young man and smiled fondly. <br/>“Why hello there Hinata-kun.” He said, making his way to the counter. With the type of work he kept himself busy with, starting his morning in this way was a privilege that he treasured. Hinata’s cheeks turned pink, the smile still on his face.<br/>“The usual?” He inquired, the air of enthusiasm never leaving his voice.<br/>“You know it.”<br/>Hinata turned to the blonde girl who was currently bustling away next to him. Even at 7:45 in the morning, Hinata’s establishment was buzzing with people. Those that dashed in to buy a croissant and a coffee before sprinting out of the door again, those that enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on a Saturday morning, and those that stared outside the window with a far-away look in their eyes, coffee turning cold.<br/>“Yachi-chan, Suga’s regular.”<br/>She looked up, right into Suga’s eyes and, to Suga’s amusement, immediately turned beetroot red.<br/>“H-hello Sugawara-san.” She nodded at Hinata in acknowledgement and then, almost spilling the drink she had just completed, hurried to take it to its recipient.<br/>“Do you think she’ll ever get used to me?” <br/>Hinata grinned. “It’s because you’re so nice Suga. Nice people are hard to come by.” A momentary scowl crossed the joyful face. <br/>“Sometimes I feel like kicking some people right out of the door. And then BAM! Close the door behind them.”<br/>Suga gave a chuckle at the mental image of the short red-head forcing someone out of his café. “You should absolutely do that, assert your dominance.” <br/>An exaggerated sigh came from Hinata. <br/>“But then I have to deal with bad rep, and blah blah blah. Assault. I dunno.” he threw his hands into the air. “I’d rather get Kenma to hack into their social media or whatever it is he does to people he doesn’t like.”<br/>“That… is illegal Hinata.” Suga chided good-naturedly. He always found it amusing how ignorant Hinata was to his own boyfriend’s internet escapades. But, he supposed it was a good thing. The less Hinata knew about Kenma’s secondary occupations, the safer for him. Suga knew Hinata was aware of the fact as well. Suga’s musings were interrupted by Yachi informing him in a shy voice that his order was ready. He took it with a smile and went to sit down, leaving Hinata to get on with the other patrons that had steadily started to fill the shop. </p><p>“Speaking of our favourite recluse, how is Kenma? Where is he?” Suga asked when he returned to the counter to pay for his meal.<br/>“He’s good. He’s in the below right now, I think. Why, do you want to go pay him a visit?”<br/>Suga nodded in affirmation. “I’m glad he’s well. I might drop by later today.”<br/>“Are you onto something new?” Hinata cocked his head to the side and Suga could not help but think of a puppy, eager for words of praise. He smiled.<br/>“Yes, I think so. It might be a red herring though. But I’ve heard a few whispers that I am not very fond of.”<br/>Hinata hummed knowingly. <br/>“Okay. I’ll give him a heads up.”<br/>“Much appreciated Hinata-kun.”<br/>Hinata smiled a bright smile and placed a cup on the counter. Suga raised his eyebrows questioningly.<br/>“On the house.”<br/>Picking up the beverage and smelling the sweet liquid, Suga’s heart warmed. He knew what Hinata was saying, in his own way, the only way he knew how. <br/>“Are you using hot chocolate to tell me I need to stay sweet?” He teased.<br/>Hinata’s expression was completely serious when he spoke.<br/>“Hot chocolate covers worries and makes them seem more manageable.”<br/>Suga felt his expression soften and the tension that he knew he always carried with him seemed to partially ebb away.<br/>“It’s you that makes life seem more manageable, Hinata-kun.”<br/>“Well… I try.” Hinata’s cheeks tinted pink, but he stood tall and proud, once again giving Suga a stellar grin. </p><p>Suga stepped back into the chill of reality, the warm cup already cooling in the winter air. Taking a deep breath Suga straightened his back, lit a cigarette and started walking with a purpose in his step.</p><p>***</p><p>The hands on the gym clock pointed to 7:00 when Oikawa pushed open the glass doors. He made his way to the locker room, stripping the layers from his body. He grabbed the boxing gloves from his bag and stuffed his things into one of the metal lockers, slamming it with a clang. As he approached the boxing area of the gym, he scoured the floor for the familiar black and white hair that characterised his sparring partner. He did not have to look long.<br/>“Hey hey hey! If it isn’t the man of the hour!” <br/>It was a testament to his personality, perhaps, that no one turned in shock as the booming voice filled the whole floor. Everyone knew Bokuto, and everyone loved him to some or the other degree. Who could not? Oikawa felt a grin form on his face that had been contorted into a frown for way too long. He turned around to face the voice.<br/>“Boku-chan!” He lengthened the honorific to such a ridiculous degree that it actually did attract attention. The result from the recipient however, was a booming laugh as he jogged over.<br/>“It’s been too long Oiki my man!” A hard slap on the back almost threw Oikawa off his feet.<br/>“Owl boy, I asked you to stop calling me that.” He jabbed Bokuto in the ribs with his fingers. <br/>“Not a chance.” Came the reply. “No one else calls you that, so I get to.”<br/>“The only reason I <em>allow</em> you to get away with that horrible nickname, is because you’d pummel me if I tried to fight you about it.”<br/>Bokuto immediately jumped into exaggerated flexing positions, and after about 5 minutes of Oikawa’s spirits being lifted by his friend’s ridiculousness, they stepped into the ring.</p><p>They sparred for two hours and Oikawa threw everything into it. Well, more like Bokuto held the pads and shouted different combinations of hits at him for two hours. They had sparred for all of ten minutes before Bokuto had realised that Oikawa was going all out, and that he was going to over-do it and injure his knee. Thus, the switch to pads and combination training. But Oikawa still threw his everything into it. Two hours later and Oikawa was lying on the ground of the boxing ring, sweat dripping from his body, his tank top clinging to his form like a second skin. <br/>“Come on big boy, time to stretch. We don’t wanna add to your injuries.” <br/>Oikawa grabbed Bokuto’s extended hand and let him pull him to his feet.</p><p>“So…” Bokuto started what Oikawa knew was going to be a question about his furious boxing.<br/>“Boku-chan, I am in a very compromised position right here.” He said, lying on the ground in a complicated quad stretch that was designed to put less strain on his dodgy knees. <br/>He could hear Bokuto make a noise that signaled exasperation. <br/>“Oikawa, come on dude. You were totally going ham on me! You are not supposed to punch the pads that hard. I thought you were going to bore holes through my palms, for real.”<br/>Oikawa moved out of the stretch, looked at Bokuto and then started to get into the same position for the other leg.<br/>“Oi-ka-wa.” Bokuto punctuated each syllable with a jab at Oikawa’s stomach. “Hey hey, no fair! Do you have steel plates on your abdomen or something?” <br/>Before Oikawa could retort, a full attack was launched on his midriff as Bokuto started jabbing every inch in an attempt to catch a soft spot. Since the nature of Oikawa’s stretch was such that trying to move quickly was nigh impossible, he was helpless.<br/>“Bokuto, Bo! Get off! Get off! Wha-” whatever he wanted to say next was lost in a fit of hysteria as Bokuto’s fingers found what they were looking for and Oikawa dissolved into a mess of giggles. <br/>Five minutes later a satisfied Bokuto sat back and grinned while Oikawa caught his breath. He struggled up, still huffing and made a mental note to get back at Bokuto for this. For now, he contented himself with glaring at the way too smug man. Bokuto’s grin faded, and then he was back to business. <br/>“For real Oiks.” Oikawa sighed at the use of the nickname, “For real, what’s up?”<br/>Oikawa ruffled his damp hair and then pushed it out of his face. He did not really want to talk about the situation, he came here to work off the frustration, not talk through it. Still, he conceded at the determined look in Bokuto’s eyes. </p><p>“So, who is this new guy you are working under? He doesn’t seem like a bad deal from the way you described him.” Bokuto sipped his drink. “Hey, this is good!”<br/>Oikawa smiled. In the end they had come to his favourite café for food and more coffee.<br/>“Right? The owner is so passionate about coffee, so everything just is the best it could possibly be.”<br/>Bokuto gave a contented hum, closing his eyes as he sipped the coffee.<br/>“Well, the Hinata I knew never did anything half-assed, so I’m not that surprised.”<br/>Oikawa eyed his friend quizzically. “You know Hinata?” <br/>“Yeah, from highschool. We were part of a volleyball training camp together. He looks small, but he had one hell of a jump. Wanted to go pro, but had some freak mountain climbing accident and it shattered his leg.”<br/>Oikawa stared wide-eyed at Bokuto, who was now munching away at a sandwich. He turned back to look at the sprightly red-head who was currently in the process of enthusiastically telling someone a story. More so than the fact that Hinata wanted to go pro, the fact that the young man looked so happy, even after having his dreams ripped apart, this was what stunned him.<br/>“Anyway,” Bokuto’s voice brought Oikawa back, “new boss. Who he?”<br/>He sighed. “Someone called Sugawara Koushi.”<br/>He watched in surprise as Bokuto’s eyes widened. “Suga? Grey hair? Really nice eyes? Mole under the eye?” With each question, Bokuto leaned more towards Oikawa and he pressed a flat hand against Bokuto’s forehead, pushing him back.<br/>“The one. Do you know everyone? Next thing you’re going to tell me he played volleyball against you too.” <br/>“He did! He was the reserve setter for Hinata’s team.”<br/>“You’re kidding me.”<br/>“I swear!” No darkness could have dulled Bokuto’s grin.<br/>“Everyone called him ‘Mr. Refreshing’, although I don’t think anyone knows who called him that first. He had this way of just, making everyone work <em>together</em>.” Bokuto meshed his fingers into a lattice. <br/>“He’d walk onto court, karate chop every single player and say something inspiring. BOOM. Everyone worked together. Changed the dynamic. I can’t believe you’re working with him! How cool!”<br/>Oikawa made a non-commital grunt and took a bite of his food as Bokuto kept gushing about Suga. His mind was far away though, occupied with the image of the winged player that had visited his dreams.</p><p>***</p><p>Suga stepped into the familiar hotel lobby. The clean marble and cloudy gray colours of the interior created a cold atmosphere. None of the usual warm browns and golden lamp-light hues were present here. The carpets were a charcoal colour and even though the room was heated, Suga felt a shiver down his spine. Taking out his phone, he checked the time. </p><p>
  <em>11:59</em>
  <br/>
  <em>12:00</em>
</p><p><br/>He glanced up and saw the changing of the staff that manned the front desk, as well as the appearance of an elevator attendant. Who was not there before.<br/>“I’ll never feel comfortable here.” He whispered to himself. Shaking off the unease, he made his way to the counter.<br/>“Room number 555. For room service.”<br/>The woman behind the desk gave him a close-lipped smile, gesturing to the lift. He walked over to the attendant, repeated the line and stepped into the elevator.<br/>Instead of pressing on the room number with his finger, the attendant took out a circular device and held it to the button. There was a whirring sound and then, instead of going up like the number would have you think, the elevator started moving downwards. What made this more unnerving was the fact that they were currently on the ground floor. Suga closed his eyes and willed the ride to be over soon.</p><p>The elevator came to a smooth stop and the attendant ushered Suga out, leaving the metal box and standing outside, obediently waiting. Suga walked down the hallway to the black door at the end and knocked three times before turning the handle and opening the door.<br/>The room that the door opened into was lit with lights that casted it into a blue glow. It was large, with a thick carpet lining the floor, a few scattered couches, a double bed and even a kitchenette. The main attraction, however, was in the middle of the… penthouse? That is what Suga called it in his head, even if it was not at the top floor. Three desks, placed together at different angles, contained four different computer screens. Each one with a different piece of content; the news, some half-written code, a game of tetris. Next to one of the two keyboards was the half eaten remnant of an apple pie. In the centre of it all, sat in a comfortable chair was the man himself. <br/>“Kenma.”<br/>The young man in the chair turned.<br/>“Hello Sugawara-san.” he said in a soft voice, before turning back to his keyboard and busying himself with whatever it was he was doing before he was interrupted. <br/>“You know, I am always newly surprised when I see this setup. How on earth did you manage this?”<br/>“That is one lead I will not help you out with.” came the soft voice.<br/>Suga smiled. He knew Kenma’s dealings in the stock market and the gaming world was a great contributor to his standard of living, but as for the way in which he acquired the less readily available information Suga was after often, he had no idea.<br/>“The fish tanks are new.”<br/>“Hinata said that I needed more life here. Brain doesn’t seem to mind them.” Kenma gestured to the floor where a fluffy white cat lay sleeping. <br/>Suga walked over to the aquariums that lined one of the walls and bent to observe the brightly coloured fish.<br/>“I’m surprised Hinata comes here.”<br/>“He doesn’t like sleeping alone, so he bears it when I need to work late.”<br/>Kenma’s face was still glued to the screen. Suga pondered on the two starkly different men and their relationship that somehow worked perfectly for a few moments as he walked though the room. Kenma would talk to him when he needed to.</p><p>“Sugawara-san.”<br/>“Hmm?”<br/>“You came here for information, did you not?”<br/>“Do you have some for me?”<br/>“You remember the thing that you asked me about a month ago?”<br/>“Vividly.”<br/>“Come here.”<br/>Suga made his way over to Kenma’s bright white screen and his eyes flitted across its contents. His eye caught, and a vice gripped his heart.<br/>“Kenma, are you sure?”<br/>“My intel is always good.”<br/>The lights around them blinked. Brain stood up and stretched.<br/>“Sugawara-san.”<br/>“Yeah.”<br/>“What are you going to do?”<br/>“What I always do.”<br/>“This isn’t a game.”<br/>“It never was.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. when a good man...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There was originally much more content that I planned for this chapter, but after writing the part that is now the end, I felt like I should rather split it into two. <br/>I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oikawa’s breath formed in the morning air as he walked from the subway to the Shimbun’s offices. He could not remember when the last time was that they had such a cold January. The chill travelled into his lungs with each inhale and he swore he could feel icicles form inside them. Well, hopefully not. <br/>He strode through Tokyo’s streets with newfound purpose this morning. He had spent the previous night pouring over more of the damned file in an attempt to familiarise him with Sugawara and his methods as much as possible. With a head swimming full of facts and proofs and, to his chagrin, a tentative respect for the man, he had set up a plan. From Bokuto’s gushing, he had gleaned what he thought to be a comprehensive guide on how to deal with Suga. Passing shivering highschool students waiting for busses, he ran through everything again. <br/>Sugawara was a man that demanded, and responded to, respect. Which is exactly what he would give him. That alone ought to lower his guard, even if only marginally. Adding on to that, he would go above and beyond. He had never before struggled to throw his soul away for a goal, and he would apply that same dedication to the tasks Suga set for him. Score number two. That ought to soften him even further. </p>
<p>Oikawa approached the doors of the Shimbun, glinting in the sun. He stepped through as they shifted for him and met the familiar faces milling around the coffee machines.<br/>“Hey Oikawa!”<br/>A wink. “Hello Kyo, how you doing?” <br/>“Oikawa! Cold out huh?”<br/>Exaggerated shudder. “You know it. Can’t believe they make us come to work.”<br/>“Good luck with Sugawara-san today Oikawa.”<br/>Yikes, did everyone know? Well he did make a big noise. Whatever, task at hand. “Thanks Ame, pray for me.”<br/>He side-stepped the frantically running paper pushers, into the elevator and started the ascent to Suga’s office. <br/>The third attack on Suga would be simple. Oikawa straightened his shoulders, shifted his jacket and checked his fly. Stupidly simple, yet absolutely bulletproof. He would charm him. He smirked just thinking about it. The elevator dinged and in an ironic gesture, he ran his hands through his hair before stepping out.</p>
<p>He had not as much as placed a foot into the corridor of the tenth floor and he was already pissed off. How on earth does someone get this set up? The floor that Oikawa found himself on was filled with glass-walled offices, some of them looking out over the wide expanse of buildings that made up the great city of Tokyo. He supposed this is what it meant to be a high-flying journalist. Feeling a little miffed, he made his way to the corner office. Arriving at the door, he waited a moment until Suga, who he now saw was in the middle of a phone call, gestured for him to come inside.<br/>“So we’ll meet you at one then?”<br/>A beat.<br/>“Yeah, at Hinata’s.”<br/>Oikawa tried his best to look nonchalant, pretending to be extremely interested in the interior of the office.<br/>It was neat. Dark wooden desk on which was placed a laptop, some writing utensils and a few paper files. There was a whiteboard against one of the walls that contained writing he could not make out, as well as a corkboard that contained a map with a few red and yellow pins stuck into them. Behind the desk and through the window was the most magnificent view of Tokyo, sprawling into the horizon. In front of this view, the silhouette of his superior. </p>
<p>“Good… good yes, we’ll see you then.”<br/>Suga glanced towards Oikawa, looking him dead in the eyes. <br/>“-okay bye, bye now.” <br/>Putting away the phone, Suga’s attention now fully shifted to Oikawa, who was trying to wrest away the flush he had felt rising up his neck. What on earth was wrong with him? It must be the lingering effects of that damned dream. Also, who looks someone in the eyes like that? <br/>“Sugawara-senpai, good morning.” <br/>“Hello Oikawa-san. You look well.”<br/>Not that he showed it, but Oikawa was having a bit of an internal crisis. If he did not know better, he would have sworn the look in Suga’s eyes was the same look he had seen in many other people when they were checking him out. Hell, it was the look he gave to people that he was checking out! It was not that he hated it, gender had never been a barrier when it came to his choice in partner. It was at that moment Oikawa killed his train of thought. This was not some night club. He was being such an idiot. Undeniably, he had dressed more sharply than he usually did, precisely with the intention of improving upon his previous impression. But it was not like he was trying to seduce Suga. It was presumptuous to think that he would even lean that way and besides-<br/>“Oikawa-san?”<br/>Oh shit. <br/>“Ah, sorry Sugawara-senpai. Thank you, you as well.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>This was going to be very interesting. Suga looked at the man standing inside his office. Oikawa’s reputation had preceded him, and Takeda-sensei had taken quite the liberty to inform Suga about what felt like most of the photographer’s history with the Shimbun. As much as he could without it being illegal, of course. There was a lot of profuse apologizing as well, he had gathered that Takeda felt embarrassed by Oikawa’s behaviour during their initial meeting.<br/>When he had first met Oikawa in Takeda’s office, the candid moment he had observed gave him a good idea of the type of person Oikawa would be. Strong, confident, charming. On a bit of a constant ego trip, made worse by the fact that his confidence was completely founded. He was good at what he did, if he put his mind to something he seemed to almost always succeed. <br/>The Oikawa he was observing at the moment certainly looked every bit the part. In contrast to the person he was when caught unawares insulting his senpai-to-be, the Oikawa in front of Suga had clearly decided what to do about the situation he was forced into. The way he was dressed, the way he carried himself… Suga smirked. Oikawa was definitely trying to kiss ass. Or at the very least he was planning to use his illustrious charm to make Suga dance to his tune. <br/>This was going to be fun. <br/>It was going to take more than Oikawa’s pretty face to make him bow into submission.</p>
<p>“Let us skip the awkward introductions. There are a few things that I want to get done today.”<br/>Suga watched Oikawa carefully as he spoke for any sort of reaction. There was none. He was good, but he would soon make him realise to not bite off more than he could chew. <br/>“How familiar are you with Yokohama?”<br/>“Excuse me?”<br/>There it was. Now to throw him off a little more. <br/>“Yokohama. The city with the second-largest population in Japan. Japan is the country we live in. I trust you know this much?”<br/>Oikawa blinked rapidly. Suga took a moment to revel in his satisfaction at the fact that he just managed to place a tiny crack in the preconceived idea the man undoubtedly held of him.<br/>“I… I am yes.” <br/>“Hm. Well, we’re going there today.”<br/>“Today?”<br/>“Indeed. Right now, actually.”<br/>“Well, what are we waiting for then?”<br/>Ah, this was going to be a lot of fun. Oikawa’s grin seemed to echo the same sentiment.<br/>“Good man.” Suga stepped forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Grab your camera.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>This was not going to plan. Not at all. Oikawa had not expected to be running after a grey-haired man trying to catch a train to Yokohama, a city he had never been to. At least, he did not envisionhis first trip there to be one with no indication of what he was going to do there. After twenty minutes of pushing past other train riders in order to purchase last minute tickets, it had never crossed his mind that he would lose his superior on the platform, spending another ten minutes frantically searching for him. He certainly did not picture the train ride to be filled by the aforementioned man pelting him with questions about his work and personal life.</p>
<p>“You were a volleyball player, am I right?”<br/>This guy seriously did not miss a trick huh?<br/>“Yeah, I played in high school. After that, I busted my ass off to make it to a national team.”<br/>“Hm.” Suga’s eyebrows creased. “I remember the finals against Canada two years ago. Those 6 aces came out of nowhere. What a way to go out with a bang.”<br/>It did not happen often, but there were times that it did. Now was one of those times. Oikawa was absolutely speechless. It took every ounce of his awareness not to let his mouth fall open in shock.<br/>“Wha-” Suga burst out laughing- “Hey no wait this is unfair!”<br/>Oikawa was powerless to control the flush that rose in his neck and he resolved to stare out of the window until Suga, who was practically doubled over with laughter, caught his breath.<br/>When the laughter had subsided to the occasional hiccup, he dared to sneak a look at Suga again. He was holding his glasses, wiping the tears from his eyes. <br/>“Don’t be so uptight, Oikawa-san.” He placed the glasses back on his nose and looked at the still-grumpy Oikawa.<br/>“You completely led me around the bush,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “making me believe you had no idea who I was.”<br/>“I did no such thing,” Suga counterd, feigning ignorance. “You inferred that on your own. Incorrectly.”<br/>Oikawa huffed, crossed his arms and sank deeper into his seat.<br/>“I heard you played as well,” he mumbled. He knew full well he was being childish, but decided to chide himself for that later. <br/>“Hmm? Oh yes. In high school.” Suga’s gaze shifted out of focus, a small smile playing on his lips and Oikawa knew he was back there. On the court, with your friends. Nostalgia had that effect. </p>
<p>They were silent for a while. The sunlight streamed into the car, casting Suga in the warm glow, the beams glinting off of his glasses. He was so beautiful. The thought sprang to his mind and left within a second, but Oikawa was caught off guard by its presence. No, that was not a thing. He was just going to ignore it. <br/>“Did you hear about my volleyball from Bokuto?” He asked.<br/> Suga looked up.<br/>“No, no I didn’t. I had actually watched that game. I did,” he added, “have a very excited Bokuto calling me on Sunday, telling me that he had met you,” He shifted in his seat, reading another question, “You retired from volleyball out of your own volition, right?” <br/>Oikawa nodded, “Yeah. I felt that it was time. My knee started acting up again and I decided I should quit while I was ahead.” </p>
<p>The train pulled into the station with a screech. Suga got up and Oikawa was quick to follow. Slinging the camera bag over his shoulder, he thought of something.<br/>“Hey senpai,” Suga shifted to face him, “why did you quit? Boku-chan told me you were a great addition to the team, but you didn’t even try to continue at university.”<br/>Suga did not answer immediately and when he did, his back was to Oikawa.<br/>“Health reasons.”<br/>Before Oikawa could inquire further, the doors opened and he was running after Suga again.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“You know sensei,” Oikawa grumbled, putting bite into the honorific, “it’s cold on a good day, in January. Do you know what makes it worse? Being at the ocean, in January. So why would you willingly drag us to Yokohama’s port on what has to be the absolute coldest day of the year?”<br/>“Tut, tut,” Sugawara shaked his head, “No need to shout Oikawa-san.” <br/>Glancing up, the wind pulling at his hair and his coat, he took in the sight of the container ship towering in front of him.<br/>“It’s cold,” Oikawa’s voice was mournful.<br/>“Astute observation,” Suga was unsympathetic. He changed gears, and pointed to the tenth pier that was barely visible in the distance. “Do you see the pier over there?”<br/>Oikawa strained his eyes, “The one with the blue light?”<br/>“The very same.”<br/>“What about it?”<br/>“I want you to take pictures of each of these boats,” Suga said, pointing at the one looming beside them.<br/>Oikawa’s eyebrows arched in disbelief.<br/>“Yes, Oikawa. Every single one. Up until that blue light.”<br/>Suga saw Oikawa visibly swallow whatever retort he was about to give. <br/>“Make sure to get the name of the boat in the photo as well.”<br/>The initial stunned disbelief at the request was quickly replaced with a cocky smile.<br/>“Easy game,” Oikawa said with a lighthearted tone. Apparently he was still connected enough with his goals to try and impress Suga. Good, he needed a man who would go above and beyond.<br/>Asking him to walk all ten piers was probably a bit much, but he needed those photos. Means justify ends and all of that.<br/>“What are you going to do?”<br/>“Some research. Meet me back here when you’re done.” He started walking in the opposite direction, leaving Oikawa to his assignment. He would be fine. Cold and maybe a bit annoyed, but he would be fine.</p>
<p>It took him a good while, many smiles and a few persuasive words before Suga finally found the harbour master. Rather, where the harbour master was situated. When he had made it that far, it took a few more sugared words and showing his press pass before the man actually agreed to see him. <br/>He stepped into the office, observed the desk piled high with papers and files and then took a look at the man behind them. He was resting his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the desk. He was surveying Suga through eyes that hung at half-mast, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. <br/>“Can I help you?” He queried in a voice that made it clear that he absolutely did not want to help Suga.<br/>“Good morning sir. My name is Sugawara Koushi. I have a simple request for you is all.” He figured that using formal speech might be the best way to go about this. Hopefully the man would be co-operative. <br/>“Ukai Keishin. What do you want? I’m a busy man.”<br/>Hm. Maybe skipping the pleasantries and getting straight to the point would be a better strategy.<br/>“I’m with the Mainichi Shimbun,” Suga took out his pass and dangled it in front of Ukai before snatching it away, “we are doing an investigation into the types of ships that dock here in Yokohama.”<br/>Ukai looked at him like he had just declared spicy mapu tofu the only legal dish now available to be bought in restaurants. <br/>“Why,” he took the cigarette from his mouth, “the fuck would you want to do that?”<br/>Suga took a deep breath.<br/>“Maritime exports and imports, as well as the types of passenger ships that dock at our ports are of great interest to the larger corporations that deal with our country’s economy. If we can get an idea of the types of ships that dock here, we can make calculated estimates about the yearly rates at which-” <br/>“Alright alright quit your yapping kid I get it.” Ukai looked even more exhausted than he did when Suga had entered. “Sheesh. I guess the big shots want to look at anything that can give them money. Lemme get the records.”<br/>He stood up and started sifting through the metal cabinets behind him.<br/>“Whaddaya need, kid?”<br/>Suga smirked. The tactic always worked. When you baffled people with bullshit, they almost always conceded. <br/>“The logs of every ship that made port here within the last two months.” <br/>Ukai grunted in acknowledgement. <br/>“Oh, and please, can you put out your cigarette?” Suga asked wryly, “I can’t handle smoke.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It was a very tired and shivering Oikawa that arrived at the predetermined meet-up spot. Suga was already there, staring over the horizon. His nose and ears were pink again, and he was smoking a cigarette. Resisting the urge to give a snarky comment about the fact that he had trudged kilometers  taking pictures of every damned ship, was sure he had frostbite in his fingers, and that he never wanted to be near seagulls ever again, he went to stand in front of Suga. <br/>“Here,” he lifted his camera, “I have everything.”<br/>Suga blew smoke from his lips before answering, “Good. Not a minute too late either. Come, we have another appointment.”<br/>Oikawa suppressed a groan. He wanted sleep, and it was only 12:00. <br/>“Good grief. Right. Okay.”<br/>Suga responded by taking another drag of his cigarette and tucking a grey strand of hair behind his ear.<br/>“By the way,” Oikawa interjected as they made their way to the station, “what kind of cigarettes are those? They don’t look like any I’ve seen.”<br/>Suga looked back at him, a sly smile on his face. <br/>“Do I look like anything you’ve ever seen?”<br/>The reply was so out of left-field that Oikawa opted to say nothing in return, and instead spent the rest of the walk boring holes into Suga’s back, silently cursing him for no reason at all.</p>
<p>They arrived at Hinata’s coffee shop a few minutes past one. When they were only a few meters away, Suga called out to someone.<br/>“Daichi!”<br/>The man standing outside the front door turned and smiled when he saw them. His smile was easy-going, the dark brown hair on his head was cut short, and he was donning a long, navy blue coat.<br/>“Yo,” He lifted his hand in greeting. “It’s been a while, Suga. Good to see you again,” he said with the smile that did not leave his lips. The words spoken were few, but they struck Oikawa as being completely sincere. Immediately he knew that this was a man who was straightforward, honest. He liked him. <br/>“Nice to meet you,” Oikawa gave a slight bow, “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”<br/>“Sawamura Daichi. But you can just call me Daichi, everyone does.” He looked at Suga. “Do you want to get something inside before we head to a park?”<br/>Oikawa did not need to be asked twice. Before Suga had a chance to respond, he had already started to head inside.<br/>“Absolutely,” Oikawa deadpanned, “I might die of either hunger or cold if I do not consume something immediately.” He opened the door. <br/>Suga snickered. “You heard the man,” he said to Daichi.<br/>Daichi shook his head in response and they headed inside, taking shelter from the cold and the bustle of the city.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Suga liked Tokyo’s parks. To him, they felt like hidden-away sanctuaries in the otherwise constructed world of concrete and skyscrapers. They were life within the suffocation of the corporate climate that constituted the metropolis he called home. He’d spend most of his time here if he could. <br/>Other than providing a respite for his never-quiet thoughts, they were convenient for the kinds of conversations such as the one he was trying to have with Daichi now.</p>
<p>The three of them had entered the park, walked around, then found a secluded spot where they could speak unbothered. <br/>Now, he handed Daichi a file. Oikawa stood behind him to the side. During the train ride back to Tokyo, Suga had not told him anything about what they were speaking about with Daichi, other than the basic information about the man himself. He had divulged to the photographer that Daichi was a detective with the Tokyo police force, and that they were childhood friends. Oikawa had nodded knowingly, commenting that the name was familiar to him from the file he was given about Suga’s cases. Now he was looking over Suga’s shoulder at Daichi’s expressions, the outside observer. Suga felt slightly guilty that he had not told Oikawa anything about the motives behind his seemingly erratic behaviour, but it did not matter. Oikawa would not be that involved anyway. He would keep him out of it.</p>
<p>Minutes of silence passed as the detective’s eyes scanned the contents of the file, his expression becoming more troubled the further he read.<br/>“Suga,” Daichi’s voice was unsteady, and Suga knew exactly what was coming. Daichi’s eyes lifted from the file and he snapped it shut.<br/>“You,” he gestured with the file, “you are walking on thin ice.”<br/>“Daichi please,” he had to convince his friend, “you can see for yourself-”<br/>“What I can see,” Daichi interrupted, “is that you have no proof.”<br/>“But Daichi, I could get it. I just need you to work with me here.” <br/>Daichi shook his head violently. “No, Suga. No you don’t. You have no proof, at least nothing that would be accepted in a court of law and, if you are asking me what I think you are, then you are asking me to break the law.” <br/>Suga sighed, pushing his glasses onto his head. Why on earth was he being so stubborn? He knew what this could be, what it could turn into so if he could just get Daichi to see things his way, things would be alright. Could he not see that? <br/>“Daichi, I’m asking you as my friend,” he tried again.<br/>“No!” It was practically a shout. Suga took a step back. Daichi never raised his voice to him, never.<br/>“Daichi?”<br/>His friend was standing in front of him, fists clenched, the file crumpling in his one hand.<br/>“No, Suga,” he seethed, “As long as I am alive, there is no way on God’s green earth that I will play a part in enabling you.”<br/>“Enabling me?” Suga’s voice rose. “Enabling me to do what, exactly?”<br/>“To play Russian roulette with your life!” The exasperation in Daichi’s voice bordered on hysteria. “How long are you going to keep this up? Huh? How long will you continue to rush headlong into these kinds of situations?” He flung the file at Suga, papers scattering on the ground.<br/>Suga felt his own anger rising up, a heat in his chest started to burn.<br/>“You know nothing, Daichi. Who the fuck are you to tell me what I should or should not do? I came to you for help. We could stop this, together.” <br/>Suga reached out a hand, but Daichi crossed his arms, closing himself off.<br/>“Sugawara, I am telling you this not as your friend, but as a member of the police department. Drop it. I’ve been lenient with you, put up with your schemes. We let you use our assets to aid your investigations. But over my dead body. I’m done.”<br/>Suga glared at his friend, the outstretched palm retracting into a fist.<br/>“You think you’re all high and mighty because you carry a badge, don’t you? I’m fine. I am capable. Don’t forget what I’ve helped you accomplish,” he spat the words, laced them with venom. <br/>They stood in silence for a minute, or ten.<br/>Daichi sighed, and when spoke, his voice trembled.<br/>“You are not fine.”<br/>Something snapped.<br/>Suga stepped over the invisible line separating them, treading over the fallen papers and pressing his forefinger to Daichi’s chest.<br/>“Don’t,” he hissed, “don’t make the mistake of thinking I need you.”<br/>Leaving his words burning in the cold air, he turned on his heel and stalked away.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Oikawa had no idea what to do. He looked at the papers on the ground, looked at Suga’s back growing smaller in the distance. Daichi’s movement snapped him out of it, but he could do little more than stare as the detective picked up the scattered contents of the file that had caused so much uproar. When Daichi stood, he looked Oikawa dead in the eyes.<br/>“Oikawa, right?” He sounded drained.<br/>“Yeah.”<br/>Pressing the torn and battered file into his hands, Daichi nodded with his head in the direction of Sugawara.<br/>“Go after him.”<br/>“I... '' Oikawa dropped his gaze to the floor. He had no idea what was going on, what had just transpired, what could have caused so much tension. His hands clenched the file, much in the same way Daichi had done, but the emotion behind the action was surely different.<br/>“I barely know him.” He whispered. <br/>When he lifted his eyes again, a sad smile marked Daichi’s face.<br/>“Please.” Daichi stepped forward and grabbed Oikawa’s hand, clasping onto it tightly, like he was a human lifeline, somehow. The eyes that searched Oikawa’s face were silently imploring him as Daichi spoke again.<br/>“Take care of him.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The comment Suga makes about the 6 aces is based on a real game. Yuji Nishida is a Japanese volleyball player who scored 6 aces in the final set against Canada in the 2019 worlds.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. ...goes to war...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’d show him. He would prove him wrong. How dare he? How dare Daichi throw information at his face like that? Critical leads, hints that could mean the difference between success and failure. It was his fault, he should never have gone to Daichi. It was foolish to believe that his best friend would remain forever untainted by the government, by those under whose employ he was. But still, Daichi… he was always upright, always loyal. How could he choose corporations, money, institutions over him? Suga was fuming, the feeling of betrayal stronger than any reason. </p>
<p>He was stalking forward, not driven in a particular direction, when he felt a familiar pain in his chest. No, not now. Not now. He ignored it, stormed on forward, just trying to get away. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, hands closing around it he took it out and tried to open the flap. The world around him started to tilt slightly.<br/>This was bad, he could not ignore it now. Damn it, why couldn’t he grasp his cigarette? He needed to sit down, he needed to-<br/>A sharp tug on his jacket pulled him backwards and before he knew what was going on, he found himself on the cold, hard ground of the park. With the world still spinning, he looked up at the panting man in front of him. <br/>“Oi, senpai,” Oikawa huffed, “no need to run away from me like that.” He straightened up, taking a gulp of air. <br/>“Cigarette,” was all Suga managed to grumble in reply. <br/>“Huh?” Oikawa looked at him in disbelief, “I witness a showdown in a park, you run away, <em>leaving me there</em>, and all you say is cigarette? Listen here-” he cut himself off when Suga then decided to lay down, flat on the ground. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>What the fuck was going on. He looked at Suga, who had, in the midst of Oikawa’s rant, unceremoniously lay down on the ground. He had decided to not pry Suga about what happened, opting instead for the ‘couldn’t care less’ approach. Which, admittedly was a lie, since he very much did care. <br/>He might not have any idea what kind of a man Suga was, or know him in any sense of the word, but still. Witnessing the confrontation between the two friends had made him feel implicated in a strange way. For better or for worse, he was working with Suga and he was still determined to win back his good name. <br/>Looking at the man, he noticed that Suga was breathing heavily. In his hand was the unopened box of cigarettes. <br/>“Hey senpai,” he bent down and picked up the box, “you okay?”<br/>“Do me a favour and light one, will you?” The voice was small, coming from Suga.<br/>Too baffled to do anything but co-operate, Oikawa did as he was asked. <br/>“Do you have a lighter on you?”<br/>“My left pocket.” Suga was still lying on the ground, eyes closed.<br/>After a few seconds of awkward rummaging, Oikawa found the lighter, lit the cigarette and sat there awkwardly for a few seconds. Suga opened one of his eyes and beckoned for Oikawa to come closer. He did, suddenly very aware of how close together their bodies were. He was feeling uncharacteristically uncomfortable and awkward. This day was just getting weirder and weirder.<br/>Suga propped himself on his elbows, took the cigarette and lay down again once he had put it in his mouth.</p>
<p>A few minutes, or hours, passed as Oikawa looked at Suga, still smoking on the ground.<br/>“Um,” he cleared his throat, “So is this some weird ritual where you communicate with the spirits on what to do next? Because that would make sense given the things we’ve been doing today.” He stared pointedly at the unmoving man. “You know, since I haven’t been given any context whatsoever?” he said, pointedly.<br/>There was no reaction.<br/>Oikawa sighed and was just about to stand up, when without warning Suga sat bolt upright.<br/>He held back what was nearly a very undignifying yelp and instead stared at Suga, who was now looking through his phone.<br/>Just before Oikawa could open his mouth to speak, Suga lifted the phone to his ear and started talking.<br/>“Hello, yes this is Sugawara… Yes, about what we mentioned before.”<br/>Oikawa sat and listened to Suga who was apparently making arrangements for what sounded like the retrieval of an item.<br/>Oikawa’s ass was freezing. The two of them still had not moved from their position on the ground, and while Suga was looking quite comfortable, he most definitely was not. What made things worse was the fact that he knew he was probably not going to be given any information. Again. <br/>He stopped his train of thought as Suga started speaking to him.<br/>“Come on,” his voice had lost all trace of the previous frustration. He did still sound a little lethargic though, making Oikawa suspicious. Maybe he did need to concede a little. The man had just fought with his best friend. Apparently.<br/>“Where to?” He asked, even though he expected no real answer.<br/>“I have a lead.”<br/>Of course. </p>
<p>Two taxi’s and one very loud bus ride later found Oikawa once again trailing after Suga as they made their way through what was a very dodgy area. Oikawa was having a hard time keeping his festering frustration at bay. He liked to know what was on the up-and-up. His entire life he had preferred to keep a semblance of control over the things that happened in it, but Sugawara Koushi, in a whirlwind of grey hair and deceptive words had completely thrown him off course. Drifting in a perpetual state of confusion was most definitely not something he could see himself doing for the foreseeable future.<br/>Twilight was starting to paint its colours over the city, the tall buildings starkly standing out against the orange skyline. The dimming light was doing nothing to improve Oikawa’s feeling of uneasiness at where they currently found themselves. Once again he was left to stare at Suga’s back, not a bit wiser about his intentions, his plans or what the hell they were doing. While travelling, Suga had been decidedly silent, staring out of the taxi window with a pensive look on his face. When they had finally started walking, the area they entered was… well, less than savoury. Suga had never wavered in his step, not even pausing when he lit another one of his damned cigarettes. Oikawa did not like them at all, he was never one for smoking, but the smell of these particular cigarettes was even more irritating to his senses. <br/>Then he followed Suga through dank alleyways that made him forget the smell of the odd cigarettes immediately. It was not like he felt they were being watched, it was way too quiet for that, but he definitely felt like a tresspasser, someone treading where they were not allowed to tread. </p>
<p>Finally, they reached some kind of a destination. Hidden in a nook of a cranny of one of the alleys was a flickering neon light that read “Ren’s”. Suga stood in front of the door. He still had not said a single word other than, “Here,” or “Hurry,” before continuing on. Now, however, he had turned to face Oikawa. Hoping for some explanation, Oikawa cocked an eyebrow at the man in front of him. Suga placed his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders and did the thing that had so often unsettled Oikawa during the span of this one, increasingly eventful day. Suga looked him dead in the eyes.<br/>“Oikawa-san,” Suga’s voice was low, “when we go inside, I don’t want you to utter a single word.”<br/>That was not what he was expecting.<br/>“How about you give me some context before I dumbly follow you into something. Again,” he said in a flat voice. Oikawa was tired of being strung along. The day was a lot.<br/>Suga’s voice did not waver, nor did his gaze when he spoke again.<br/>“Let me put it like this. If you want to smoothly serve out the rest of your time under me, with a glowing report to Takeda, then you will dumbly follow me into this situation.”<br/>Oikawa clenched his jaw.<br/>“As long as you work with me,” Suga continued, unphased, “you will continue to dumbly follow me into any and every situation I choose. What I tell you, or don’t tell you is all intensional.” Suga’s grip on his shoulder’s tightened, fingers digging into him. <br/>“You read those articles. Do you think I got answers by playing it safe?” Suga’s voice started to rise, “Do you think Daichi reacted to what was in that file in that manner because what I’m doing is absolutely foolproof?” <br/>The moment that passed between them was tense. Oikawa knew he had no upper hand, but he was tired and wanted to know what was going on.<br/>Suga broke eye contact first and shook his head before lifting it to meet Oikawa’s gaze once again.<br/>“I need someone I can rely on, Oikawa-san,” he said, his voice taut this time.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Take care of him.”</em>
</p>
<p>Daichi’s words, spoken only a few hours before, returned to Oikawa. He sighed, unclenched the fist he had held, then lifted his hand and placed it on Suga’s hand, still gripping his shoulders. <br/>“What do I do?” he asked, properly meeting Suga’s gaze for the first time. He would get the answers later.<br/>Suga dropped his arms from Oikawa’s shoulders and gave a tight-lipped smile.<br/>“Follow behind me, but do not sit next to me. I will head to the bar, you head to a table in the back.”<br/>Oikawa nodded. As expected, he would not be a part of whatever Suga was orchestrating. <br/>“However,” Suga added, “You will not only be standing by.” <br/>“Now this sounds better,” Oikawa smirked.<br/>“Don’t get cocky Oikawa-san,” Suga retorted. He tapped the strap of the camera bag that Oikawa still carried with him. <br/>“I want you to use this. But you have to be discreet, you hear me?” Suga ordered. <br/>“Do you want me to take pictures of what will be going on between you and whoever you’re meeting? That seems ballsy senpai,” Oikawa surmised. <br/>Suga looked at him incredulously. “Use your brain. Doesn’t your camera have video as well?”<br/>The light dawned on Oikawa. <br/>“Oh, oh I see.” <br/>“Not a moment too soon,” Suga said, turning back to the door.<br/>“Allons-y,” whispered Oikawa behind him. <br/>“What?” <br/>“It’s french for let’s go.” <br/>“You can speak french?” The surprised in Suga’s voice deeply amused Oikawa, but he didn’t dare show it. He did not know how to explain that he had learnt the line from a sci-fi show, and was saved from offering an explanation when Suga resigned himself to a, “Whatever,” and opened the door. </p>
<p>Upon entering, Oikawa blinked his eyes when they were hit with significantly more light than was available in the narrow alleyway he had been moments before. Suga had already started walking to the bar, purpose in his stride. Not about to be sitting high and dry while all the action was going down, Oikawa stepped next to another man who was sitting at the bar. He saw Suga give him a pointed look, but he rolled his eyes and ignored it. After he had ordered his beer, he took it to a corner table and plunked himself down on a chair that had its back to the bar. One long drink and he pulled out his camera from the bag. Pretending to look through its contents, he removed the cap from the lens and pushed the record button, training the camera on where Suga should be. He had checked beforehand so it should be good. Now he had to wait. Twiddle his thumbs. Cry out in boredom. <br/>He let his eyes travel around the room, taking in the different patrons. The variety was quite impressive. There were a few men in sharp suits, although more often than not they sported either a scar or hints of a tattoo creeping from their collars. Knowledge of the fact that he was sharing a bar with yakuza was exhilirating, even if nothing was coming from it. Other than that, what looked like some simple blue collar workers and then those that were obviously dealing with something shady. He could tell because they were comically dressed in all black, sat in the dark corners and spoke with gruff voices. It might have been funny if he wasn’t actually there. But he was and so were they. Which made it less funny.</p>
<p>“Well. This is a new face,” a voice tinged with curiosity came from behind Oikawa.<br/>His shoulders tensed, but he kept his face expressionless as he turned to face the man behind him. <br/>“Must be your lucky day if you haven’t seen me before,” Oikawa mocked. <br/>Sandy brown hair and a cheeky grin looked back at him before the man gave a snort and walked around the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, extending his hand without reservations.<br/>“Konoha.”<br/>Playing down his unease, Oikawa shook his hand.<br/>“Ushijima.” Now there was a name he did not think would come to his mind as quickly. Too late now. <br/>“The pleasure is mine,” Konoha replied, his eyes searching Oikawa’s face. “So, like I said. New face. What brings you here?”<br/>The glance was nearly imperceptible, but Oikawa caught it as Konoha’s eyes flitted down to his camera. The camera that was pointed at Suga and the mystery contact, the camera that was currently filming. The impulse to lie and play it dumb was strong, but Oikawa did not want to risk it. <br/>“My newest project,” Oikawa flashed a prideful smile, “I study photography and film at the university of Tokyo.” Patting his camera, he looked at Konoha and then started laying it on thick.<br/>He leaned forward. “Most of the people in that department are so stiff. Boring,” he waved his hand dismissively, “they have no vision. I, on the other hand, have decided to chase after the abstract. The dark and the mysterious,” he whispered conspiratorally. Leaning back again, he fixed a self-satisfied look on his face.<br/>“That so?” Konoha inquired.<br/>“You better believe it,” Oikawa moved to pick up his camera, “if you want to see my work, I can show you.” <br/>“Ah, no that’s fine,” Konoha waved his hands and gave a chuckle, “I am not a photography connoisseur per say. So I’m afraid your superior talent will be lost on me.”<br/>Oikawa did not miss the sarcasm and bit back a comment of his own.<br/>“You said photography-”<br/>“Photography and film, actually,” Oikawa interjected hastily.<br/>“Photography and film,” Konoha’s tone was measured as he studied Oikawa, “is that why you are recording?”<br/>“Ambience,” Oikawa said nonchalantly.<br/>“Ambience.”<br/>“Exactly,” Oikawa was revelling in the look on Konoha’s face, “Do you think the people here would let me saunter in and start snapping away? No. Although, it seems I haven’t been as discreet as I wanted to be,” he pondered, shooting a curious glance at Konoha.<br/>“You got me,” Konoha shrugged. <br/>Just when he thought he would have to grasp for something else to say before the situation became tense, Oikawa’s phone pinged. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a message from Suga blinking on the screen.<br/>Relief flooded over him, but his acting job was not over yet.<br/>“Ah, fuck!” he groaned.<br/>“Problems?” <br/>“You better believe it.” Oikawa made a show of packing up his gear with continued grumbles of, “The audacity,” and “unbelievable,” praying to the muses that he was convincing. <br/>Finished, he placed the bag over his shoulder and shot an exasperated glance to Konoha, who was still eying him with suspicion that had not dulled in the least.<br/>“Sorry man. Controlling girlfriends, you know how it is.” <br/>Konoha nodded, mind elsewhere, and Oikawa took his leave at the speed of light.</p>
<p>Following the live location indicator that Suga had sent him, Oikawa blundered his way through the now-dark alleys. Mentally cursing Suga for all of the fifteen minutes it took him to arrive at the destination, Oikawa finally spotted him. <br/>Suga stood there, taking him in for a few moments before speaking.<br/>“You might as well say it, since your face isn’t doing a great job of hiding it.”<br/>“What the hell man? You weren’t in there for more than six minutes were you? You just left me there!”<br/>“You were busy,” Suga said, his eyes glinting mischieviously.<br/>“Why you…”<br/>Suga lifted his finger to silence him.<br/>“If I had contacted you right after I left, it would have been suspicious. Besides, you seemed be handling the situation.” Suga looked at him tauntingly, and Oikawa knew that saying anything to the contrary would be admitting defeat. <br/>“Well obviously.”<br/>“Good, now let’s get out of here.”</p>
<p>The rest of their walk out of the shady neigbourhood, Oikawa’s thoughts had drifted back to the events of the garden earlier that day, and Daichi’s concerned plea. He would be lying if he said Suga did not interest him. There was a lot to unpack, but if their relationship continued on the path Suga had pushed it, Oikawa was going to learn nothing. He needed to throw in a curveball of his own. Having found a new goal, his determination solidified.</p>
<p>“Finally,” Suga said with a breath of relief, “I trust you can find your own way home?” He asked Oikawa.<br/>“About that, senpai-” he was cut off by the sound of his own phone ringing. He glanced at the name on the screen and a scowl immediately formed on his face.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ushijima Wakatoshi</em>
</p>
<p>Of all the people. He must have jinxed himself when he used the name to introduce him to Konoha. Declining the call, he shoved the phone in his pocket before looking at Suga again.<br/>“Ghost come back to haunt you or something?” Suga asked.<br/>“It’s nothing,” Oikawa could not, or rather did not stop the harshness in his tone.<br/>“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” <br/>Was Suga actually concerned? <br/>“I’m fine, senpai.”<br/>Suga sighed. “If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.”<br/>“I guess being nosy is an occupational hazard for you,” Oikawa said, but there was no malice in his voice.<br/>“And being confrontational is one of yours?”<br/>“Wow. That was low, senpai,” Oikawa whined, then remembered what he was going to ask before he was so rudely interrupted. <br/>“Speaking of… speaking. Would you maybe want to go out for drinks? I know a place.”<br/>Suga gave him a tired smile.<br/>“Are you trying to romance me, Oikawa-san?”<br/>“Wait, what? No!”<br/>He must have looked very surprised, because despite the fatigue that Oikawa could now see plainly on his face, Suga started laughing. Low chuckle, but a laugh all the same. <br/>“Thank you for the offer, but I am going to pass. Another day, maybe.”<br/>“Another day then, senpai.” Oikawa said, recovering quickly.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>His apartment was cold and dark when he entered. The little light that did enter from the glow of the city and the visible moon cast dark shadows. Suga flipped on the light switch, chasing away the shadows. Somehow the warm light made his apartment feel even more lonely. Often times the dark makes you feel like someone might be lurking nearby, while the light shows you that it is in fact, only you. He could not even call Daichi to tell him about what had happened today.<br/>He regretted the outburst. Kind of.<br/>Kenma’s news had just shocked him so deeply that he had expected Daichi to have the same reaction, suggest immediate plans, jump the gun. When the reaction had been anything but, he had lost it. One of the first things he needed to do was fix that. But then again, why wouldn’t Daichi support him? Had he gone soft? Suga clicked his tongue and made his way to the bathroom. He needed a shower.</p>
<p>After he had taken the shower and pulled on the most comfortable clothes he could find, Suga took a trip to his medicine cabinet.<br/>“Hello boys. I should probably stop avoiding you, hm?” he said to the little orange bottles. <br/>Swallowing the pills, he made his way to his kitchen counter where he had left the fruits of his labour, the result of the rendezvous at the bar. The brown paper bag festered where it lay, the handgun within it more like a time bomb. He picked up the bag and put it into the black duffle that he sometimes carried around with him.<br/>“You,” he said to the bag, “need to go to Kuroo soon.”<br/>Kuroo. Now there was yet another of his friends that he had not seen in a long time. He missed his friends. It was all his own fault though, the fact that he was coming back to a lonely flat every day. The last month his work had haunted him, consumed his every waking thought. Speaking of, he needed to do some serious looking at the logs he had acquired from Ukai. <br/>He rubbed his eyes, gave a whistful look to his soft couch and then made his way to the study.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Oikawa!” Hanamaki’s voice called from the bar as soon as Oikawa stepped into the establishment he frequented.<br/>“Ah! Makki-chan!” he sing-songed.<br/>The face of one his longtime best friends was exactly what he needed right now. <br/>“Hey Tendou,” he said, sliding into the seat next to Hanamaki, “Thanks a million for coming man.”<br/>Hanamaki smiled at him genially. “No problem, I was looking to get out of the home anyway.”<br/>“Mattsun driving you up the walls?” Oikawa teased.<br/>Hanamakki swatted at Oikawa, hitting him on the back of the head. <br/>“Ah! Makki-chan don’t be mean!”<br/>“Can it, loser,” he quipped, “Issei and I are perfectly fine.”<br/>“What, he isn’t up your ass about getting a job anymore?”<br/>This time, he dodged the incoming assault from his friend.<br/>“For your information, I do have a job.”<br/>“Oh really?” Oikawa taunted, “How many?”<br/>“You prick,” Hanamakki muttered, “has your senpai been shunting you around so much you need to take it out on me?”<br/>Tendou put down a whiskey in front of the both of them.<br/>“Thanks Ten-chan,” Oikawa said with a wink. “My man,” he complained, “you don’t know the half of it.”<br/>The intrigue in Hanamakki’s face urged him to go on.<br/>“Today was my first day and within the first five minutes of spending time with him, he had already given the middle finger to all my expectations.”<br/>“Sounds like a piece of work.”<br/>“No!” Oikawa gestured with his glass in the air, “That’s the thing. I think he is actually nice, but hell, with the way he had me running after him,” he made a sound of disapproval.<br/>“Ah,” he took a drink, “I guess it’s good I have someone keeping me on my toes.”<br/>Hanamakki hummed, taking a sip from his drink as well. “It’s been a while since you’ve had someone give you a regular ass-kicking.”<br/>Oikawa knew what Hanamakki was trying to get at. <br/>“How is he?” he asked, his tone considerably more sober.<br/>“Oikawa,” Hanamakki leaned forward, his face serious, “make up with him. Ask him yourself.”<br/>“Makki-chan-”<br/>“No, Oikawa,” he interrupted-, “It’s been years, all because of an overreaction when you two were eighteen.”<br/>Oikawa ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “I know,” he said softly.</p>
<p>He did know. He knew the fight that had brought the rift between him and Iwaizumi, his childhood friend, was something that could be resolved. The only thing that loomed larger than the rift was pride. From both their sides. Even though the hourglass had been slipping its sands with each passing day, the weight and the guilt still lived with Oikawa. </p>
<p>“You’re right, Makki-chan. I do need to see him again.”<br/>“But… not yet.”<br/>“Makki, I-I don’t know, okay?”<br/>Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t.”<br/>“Makki-chan, please. Can we talk about something else?” Oikawa gave a tight smile, “I came here to have fun with an old friend.”<br/>“Of course, Oikawa.” Hanamaki’s face immediately spread into a mischievious grin. “So, is he hot then? If he keeps you on your toes,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “then there must be something about him that is enchanting you.”<br/>“Do you want me to slap you this time?”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>He dropped the file to the floor and let himself fall face-down onto his bed. When he lifted his eyes to look at the time, the numbers read 3 am. <br/>He groaned.<br/>“Sleep. Sleep is a good idea.” The room was silent.<br/>“Especially since I’m talking to myself now.”<br/>Before he drifted away, Suga’s mind played over the events of the day. In every scene, Oikawa’s face was there. Either clouded with confusion, containing a cocky grin, or wrought in frustration. <br/>He thought once again about his life of the past month. The way he had allowed himself to drift from other people, the way his work had become his world. Objectively, he knew it was detrimental, but he could not stop now. Not when so much was at stake.<br/>“Maybe it’s a good thing I have him with me,” he said to the file on the floor, his last thought before sleep claimed him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it was a very tired me who finished editing this chapter. i do hope it comes across well.</p>
<p>writing something like this is such an odd experience for me, and i hope you like it :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ...demons run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter took me a long time to write I'm sorry! I spent a lot of time panicking about the pacing and the story as a whole haha. but here you go, i hope you enjoy :)</p><p>thank you so much for all the comments and the kudos, they make my day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Remind me, please, why I tagged along with you in the middle of winter so that you could take pictures of boats while my toes freeze off?”<br/>
It was yet another early morning, yet again at the freezing docks. Oikawa gripped onto his camera, his fingerless gloves doing the absolute bare minimum in protecting them from the icy breeze that blew in from the ocean. Oikawa turned to the man who had just repeated the same phrase he had been uttering for the past half an hour.<br/>
“Because, my dear Samu-chan, I didn’t want to do it alone, and I promised you a romp in the sheets if you did,” Oikawa snickered at his companion.<br/>
“Don’t get cocky about this.”<br/>
“Too late,” Oikawa sing-songed, still snapping pictures.</p><p>It was two weeks since his eventful first day working with Suga and since then, absolutely nothing had happened. The wishes and whims of Sugawara made no sense to him, and in the time that had passed he had stopped trying to catch up and instead had let himself be pulled along in the current. It was all desk work, sifting through information that made absolutely no sense. He had been tasked for several days with sorting through information about handguns, makes and models, but specifically those that were manufactured in America. After this, he was sent to the police station with a press pass to go and take pictures of the government issued weapons used by the officers. He assumed his next job would be comparing the weapons in some way or another, but instead Suga had him research different art galleries in Tokyo, Kyoto and Hakone. Not only did he fail to specify which types of galleries, but also did not give him any indication about the time period of establishment that he should be looking at. Then it was research on influential American businessmen with involvement in Japan. He had tried to make sense of it, but all of it made his head reel. He did not even want to get into the time he had met Hinata’s boyfriend. Initially, he had thought that he would have been flung into various escapades by now, taking photos of evidence and crime scenes, but no. Instead, he had been given all of the aforementioned tasks and told upon arrival on the second day that he was to go to the Yokohama port every Monday for a month, taking pictures of every single docked ship.</p><p>This was the third Monday, and after trudging the length of the port three times by himself at this point with nothing but the looming boats and odd stares he received, he decided no more. Thus the presence of his companion, one Miya Osamu, who was currently rubbing his hands together frantically. <br/>
He had met Osamu via his twin brother, Atsumu who was simultaneously Oikawa’s rival and teammate for a while when they were both competing for the position of setter on the Japan national volleyball team.<br/>
Oikawa’s interest in the man was immediate, and all it took was a few cans of beer and a lot of teasing for the two of them to test out their sexual compatibility. Which as it turned out, was pretty good. That was that though, neither of them ever wanted to pursue something. They enjoyed each other's company, both in and out of bed, but did not make any effort to try and forge a solid relationship, neither the sexual nor the romantic kind. Which was absolutely fine by Oikawa, it made Osamu the perfect person for a day like today and since Osamu was Osamu, there were never any weird complications.</p><p>“Why was it you could leave the store today again?” he asked, snapping a picture of a particularly dubious looking ship. Dubious as in that it looked like it should be dry docked, not on the water. He was surprised it was even seaworthy. <br/>
“Kita’s minding it,” Osamu answered, blowing onto his hands once more. It amused Oikawa to see that despite Osamu’s groaning about the weather, his deadpan expression never changed.<br/>
“I can’t believe you guys still keep in touch.”<br/>
Osamu stopped blowing on his hands to look at Oikawa.<br/>
“He grows good rice.”<br/>
“I’m sure he does.”<br/>
Osamu returned back to blowing on his hands as they walked to the next ship. When they stopped and took a few steps back so Oikawa could take a photo of an absurdly large bulk carrier, Osamu started talking again.<br/>
“Why do you need to do this anyway? Why on a Monday? Why every single type of ship? It seems odd.”<br/>
Oikawa leaned into him and activated his puppy dog eyes. “Samu-chan? You are actually curious about something to do with me?” He fluttered his eyelids in mock anticipation of praise or attention.<br/>
The look on Osamu’s face was priceless.<br/>
“Forget I asked, you weirdo,” he dismissed, all traces of curiosity gone, pushing away Oikawa’s face that had been leaning in ever closer.<br/>
“Hey, hey no I will answer. Don’t be such a grumpy gill,” Oikawa said, bumping his shoulder against Osamu’s. Ignoring the eye-roll that came from his stoic friend, he started talking.<br/>
“No idea, no idea and, get this, no idea.”<br/>
“Wow. Enlightening.”<br/>
“You know Samu-chan, when you deadpan like that I can’t tell if it’s different from all the other times.”<br/>
 Oikawa peered through the viewfinder and snapped a photo.<br/>
“What is that supposed to mean?” <br/>
“I’m saying you sound sarcastic even when you do actually like something, so I can never tell when you’re serious,” Oikawa said in his most innocent voice.<br/>
“Are you trying to say I’m expressionless?”<br/>
“Um…. no?” <br/>
“You know what, maybe I don’t need to get laid,” came the exasperated reply.<br/>
Oikawa took a few seconds to revel in the fact that he elicited at least some form of emotional reaction from Osamu, before he grabbed the man’s hand.<br/>
“Well I do,” he said as he dragged him to the next ship.</p><p>The interior of his flat was a welcome respite from the outside cold. Oikawa stepped in and shrugged off his coat, motioning for Osamu to do the same. He knew what was going to happen between them now, but there was not any particular tension on the way up, so he decided to make his way to the kitchen.<br/>
“Would you like something to drink?” he called behind him as Osamu slipped off his shoes. <br/>
“Coffee it is then,” he said when there was no answer.<br/>
He reached up to grab some cups from his shelf. “How’s your brother? Still annoying?” he asked, trying to make conversation. <br/>
He nearly jumped when he felt a warm breath near his ear as the deep voice of Osamu answered, “Why are you asking about my brother? I’m the one here, aren’t I?”<br/>
Shivers ran up Oikawa’s spine as he felt Osamu’s hands slip underneath his clothes, the still-cold fingertips trailing up his sides, before his arms wrapped around him.<br/>
“Sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t my brother you actually found attractive,” Osamu continued, fingers now tracing Oikawa’s abdomen.<br/>
Oikawa smirked, putting down the cup in his hand as Osamu’s wandering hands started building a warmth within him.<br/>
“Oh? Then why do you think I pursued you?” <br/>
“Because Tsumu would never let you top,” Osamu said matter-of-factly.<br/>
“Besides,” the hands left Oikawa’s body, “his sexual orientation is volleyball.”<br/>
Oikawa turned to look at Osamu, who’s eyes had grown dark in a familiar look of lust. A grin formed on Oikawa’s face. Osamu really had only come for one thing.<br/>
He stepped in-between Osamu’s legs, his hands finding Osamu’s hips and drawing him against him in one quick motion. He dropped his head to the man’s neck, leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way to Osamu’s ear.<br/>
“Well, luckily mine isn’t,” he whispered in a low voice. The sound of Osamu’s breath hitching was all the encouragement he needed to lead the dark haired man to the bedroom, where desperate hands made quick work of undressing each other. </p><p>Oikawa pushed Osamu to the bed and began to lose himself in the warmth and the heat of kisses and the body of someone else.<br/>
This is exactly what Oikawa needed. His mind had been so busy with thoughts of Suga and work that he had not spent a lot of time on himself. <br/>
Suga… the past two weeks had been confusing. He could not tell if Suga was regressing or simply was dedicated to the task at hand. The task which remained to be revealed. Either way, spending his time in close proximity with Suga had enlightened him to many things about the man. The way he twirled the hairs that grew at the back of his nape when he was stuck in intense focus, the way he would close his eyes and rub his temples when he was tired, or the way he twirled his pen in his fingers when he seemed to be making headway in a project. He had also realised how Suga could forget to take care of himself. Two days after their first day together, Oikawa had noticed that Suga was forgetting to eat lunch, so he started bringing lunch back to the office with him. The first time he did this, Suga had looked up at him from the desk with such a look of surprise that Oikawa wondered if Suga was even aware of the fact they were sharing an office. Now it had just become a part of their day. Soft, thankful smiles and a reserved, “Thank you,” that felt more tender than it needed to be. It was the only time he would ever see Suga in a position close to vulnerability. It wasn’t all the ‘boat mystery’ as Oikawa liked to call it, but-<br/>
“Hey, Oikawa?” <br/>
Oikawa looked down at the figure of Osamu beneath him, the expression on his face shocking him back to his senses. Oh no. He had seriously not just thought about his work life in the lead up to sex, did he? <br/>
“Are you with me?” Osamu’s voice prodded, his hand slipping behind Oikawa’s head, tugging on his hair.<br/>
“Yeah, yeah of course,” Oikawa’s mind raced at a million miles an hour. What was wrong with him?<br/>
“You completely zoned out on me.” Osamu was starting to look wary and a rush of guilt came over Oikawa.<br/>
“Sorry, sorry Osamu.” He shook his head, trying to clear his mind.<br/>
“Well then, kiss me like you mean it you idiot. Autopilot isn’t going to fly with me.”<br/>
He did just that, pushing the guilt and away from his mind and lost himself in Osamu’s body. He tried very hard to ignore the fact that one of the things he had thought when he looked at Osamu’s face beneath him, was the fact that he didn’t have a familiar mole underneath his left eye.</p><p>***</p><p>It had been a while since Suga had entered the Tokyo police office. The fact that he was a familiar face ensured that no one tried to hinder his entry. He prayed that he would not run into Daichi. He knew it was something that needed addressing, but if he was honest, he wanted an apology. Not because he was petty about these kinds of things, but because he needed Daichi. No matter what he had said in the park, he needed Daichi’s help and support and if he went to apologise first, Daichi would disregard the information that Suga had given him, leaving them with a bond of mistrust. Suga put faith in Kenma’s intel, and he was not about to budge just because of an overreaction on Daichi’s side. He was certain his friend would come around. Until then, he would do his utmost to find more compelling evidence. Which, he was here to do. <br/>
“Sugawara,” a voice behind him spoke.<br/>
He turned around to face a black-haired woman in a sharp suit.<br/>
“Kiyoko! Long time no see.” As happy as he was to see her, Suga felt a small twinge of anxiety at the sight of Daichi’s partner. He hoped Daichi was not around.<br/>
“Hm. Long time. It’s good to see you again,” The slightest of smiles formed on her face, “Did you come to see Daichi?”<br/>
“Ah, no actually I came to see Kuroo.”<br/>
“Okay. He is in the lab.”<br/>
“Thanks. I’ll see you around then?” Suga had never been more thankful that Kiyoko was not someone to pry or persist in people’s matters. Maybe he was more affected by the situation with Daichi than he had previously thought.<br/>
She gave him a small nod in response and walked off to do whatever it was that she had to do.<br/>
Suga breathed a sigh of relief and made his way to Kuroo’s lab. </p><p>His knock on the tinted glass door was answered by the jovial face of Kuroo Tetsurou, a man who’s perpetual bed head was apparently the result of an hour in front of the mirror each morning. Suga had his doubts, but then he’d catch a whiff of the smell of hair products and would have to concede the hair might just be of Kuroo’s own design.<br/>
“Suga-san! Hey! I assume you got my message then?” <br/>
Kuroo turned and walked back into the lab. Suga followed him, closing the door as he entered. </p><p>Kuroo’s lab was always fascinating to behold. At least for Suga. Even though all the instruments were immaculately taken care of, and everything had its place, there was still a sense of chaos about the room. Maybe it had something to do with the way Kuroo flitted around, almost never still, constantly picking up samples of something and comparing them to numbers on a page, or checking vials. He would talk a mile a minute about what each of his machines did, or what exactly were inside of the five petri dishes he had at any given moment, if you gave him even a millimeter of space. At the moment, he was shuffling through a pack of papers, muttering to himself about something Suga could not make out.<br/>
“Ah! I have it.” Kuroo rushed back over to Suga and thrust a piece of paper into his face. “This.”<br/>
Suga had to push back Kuroo’s hand and adjust his glasses before he could make out the words. As he read through it, his heart sank. <br/>
“This doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know,” he did not bother to hide the disappointment in his voice.<br/>
“I told you it was a long shot. You did your own research then?” Kuroo placed the paper back on his desk.<br/>
“Yeah, I had my subordinate do it.”<br/>
“You have a subordinate?”<br/>
“Well,” Suga hesitated, “that’s a very formal way of putting it. He’s a coworker.”<br/>
Kuroo tapped his chin contemplatively.<br/>
“Oh! Is it the photography guy?”<br/>
Suga chuckled. “Even you know then?”<br/>
Silence fell for a few seconds, and when Suga looked back at Kuroo, the man was eying him with a quizzical expression.<br/>
“What?”<br/>
Kuroo’s features morphed into a mischievous grin.<br/>
“You like him.”<br/>
Suga gave him a reproachful look.<br/>
“Have you inhaled too much of the ethanol fumes you keep somewhere here or have you just finally lost it.”<br/>
“Nah man you misunderstand,” Kuroo waved his hand dismissively, “I meant he’s endeared himself to you.”<br/>
“Oh? How so?”<br/>
“Because,” Kuroo’s smugness made a quick return, “the great Sugawara does not simply think of other people with a soft expression on his face while staring into the middle distance.”<br/>
Suga decided to ignore Kuroo and his taunts. He was not about to deny that Oikawa’s presence in the office was indeed a source of comfort for him. Over the past two weeks, the mere fact that someone was constantly there to remind him to eat, or to smile at him, someone that greeted him in the morning and gave him a ‘good night’ at the end of the work day… it probably helped to keep him from completely losing it.<br/>
“Kuroo,” Suga needed to get the man back on track, “do you really not have anything?”<br/>
Kuroo sat himself down in a chair and pulled open one of his cabinets. He removed a plastic bag and within it sat the object that had been taking up so much of Suga’s brainpower for the past month and half. <br/>
“This handgun, like I’ve told you, is of an American make.”<br/>
Suga nodded. Oikawa’s thorough research had confirmed this.<br/>
“I know you did handle it with great care, but whoever had it before you really did not.”<br/>
To be expected. Suga knew reaching out to the contact that he had in the yakuza was not exactly someone who knew how to handle evidence. It was the first time he had asked an informant of his to give him physical evidence, so it was a long shot anyway.<br/>
“I tried to pull prints, but for all my toils and troubles, all I got was jumbled and or unusable. The only clear print was one from your guy. So you know. Useless.” Kuroo seemed even more disappointed than Suga. He knew that Kuroo took his job seriously, so not being able to recover even prints from a piece of evidence was a blow to his pride.<br/>
“I can’t say that I was hoping for much. I was lucky just to have the gun to go on.” <br/>
The two men spent another bout of time in silence as Suga digested the lacking information.<br/>
“Suga,” there was a tentative tinge to Kuroo’s voice that made him worry, “you’ve been working on this particular case for a month and a half now…” his voice trailed off.<br/>
“Spit it out Kuroo, it’s not like you to pussyfoot around something,” Suga smiled at his friend, “are you going to give me a lecture about withdrawing from my friends?”<br/>
“Well,” Kuroo scratched his head, “I heard from Kenma that he gave you some pretty damaging intel, since Hinata hasn’t seen you for two weeks.”<br/>
“Kuroo," Suga was starting to become impatient, "I can’t let this go. Gun trafficking is a big deal, especially in this country. After that initial homicide, I felt like I was working a cold case.” </p><p>He thought back on the murder that he had reported. It was a double homicide that had taken place without any indication of who could have done it or why. At the scene they had found a handgun, which the perp had probably ditched for fear of being caught with it. This might have not been strange if it weren’t for the fact that handguns were outlawed in Japan. For use by the public anyway. After that, there had been a rise in homicides in Tokyo specifically, strange enough as it was the thing that tied them all together was that the victims were all shot with handguns. The bullets were not manufactured in Japan, some digging had revealed. Needless to say, the case had completely taken over Suga’s life. </p><p>“So Kenma dug up something that has made you dig back in with renewed vigour?” Kuroo questioned.<br/>
“Yes. That’s the long and short of it.”<br/>
“But why fight so hard for this?” <br/>
“Because… It reminds me too much of what happened in New York.”<br/>
The images that haunted his nightmares even to this day. Why would no one try and understand this was way more than any of them? How could he do this? How could he not. His emotions must have been clear on his face, because Kuroo opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything.<br/>
“I couldn’t do anything then, Kuroo. But I can. I can do it now. I can try and stop it before more people get killed just because those with trigger happy fingers are suddenly given access to very convenient murder weapons.” His resolve was firm. Nothing would stand in his way.<br/>
“But Suga, you always charge into these things without thinking. I mean, okay no…” Kuroo trailed off. “It’s not that you don’t think, it’s that you think a lot and then end up charging into the fray anyway.” He lifted his eyes and searched Suga’s face. He knew that if he pushed too much, Suga would just clam up and dismiss him. When the soft and warm demeanour of his old friend turned cold, like it was starting to do now, there was no getting through to him. He knew that talking was not going to work anymore now.<br/>
Suga looked at Kuroo, sensing concerned desperation. When were his friends going to stop treating him like a fragile being? The sigh that escaped Kuroo’s mouth told him that the man decided to give up the badgering. Good that.</p><p>“Just,” Kuroo’s voice was firm again, “keep someone by your side? Okay? Even if it is Oikawa. If someone can make you smile like that then… then they must be good to keep around.”<br/>
“Will that get you off my back?” Suga asked, keeping his tone light to try and break the mood.<br/>
“Perhaps. That, and you owe me a drink.”<br/>
“I could do with a drink, now that you mention it.” Maybe he should take Oikawa up on that offer. Maybe later. He had been working him to the bone.<br/>
“I won’t allow you to hurt yourself, okay?” Kuroo shifted into dad mode once again.<br/>
Suga rolled his eyes, “They are the ones who are going to have to worry about getting hurt.”<br/>
“Ha, demons run…” Kuroo said with a low chuckle. <br/>
“What was that?”<br/>
“Oh, nothing. Just something Daichi once told me.”<br/>
“Fine, keep your secrets.” Suga made his way to the lab door. “It was good to see you Kuroo.”<br/>
Just before he could leave, Kuroo’s voice called out to him one last time.<br/>
“I meant it, Suga. Keep someone close.”<br/>
Suga smiled, and closed the door behind him.</p><p>***</p><p>Despite the initial awkwardness, the sex had been good. Very good. It was always an ego boost whenever Oikawa bedded Osamu. There was just something about having a man, who could almost rival him in strength and length, cling to him and come undone while moaning his name. What a shame it always ended in this way though.<br/>
“You know, it’s good you never wanted to become a doctor. You have terrible bedside manner.”<br/>
Osamu shot him a glare before he pulled his shirt over his head.<br/>
“Bedside manner has nothing to do with sex Oikawa.”<br/>
“It sounds like it should.”<br/>
Osamu started to put his socks on.<br/>
“Samu-chan, why do you always have to run away like this? How am I supposed to feel?”<br/>
“With your hands. Now quit moaning. Don’t you have photos to trudge through and deliver?”<br/>
Oikawa groaned. “Don’t remind me.”<br/>
A notification bell sounded. “That’s me,” Oikawa said and peered at the screen.<br/>
“Come, let me out,” Osamu nudged Oikawa with his foot.<br/>
“Hold on, give me a second to get dressed.”<br/>
“You’re leaving too?”<br/>
“Yeah,” Oikawa lifted his phone, “I have a date.” He gave a wide grin.<br/>
“You player.”<br/>
“Samu-chan! Mean!”</p><p>Oikawa stepped into Hinata’s coffee shop and was immediately hit with the sweet smell of pastries mingled with freshly ground coffee. The man himself was busy talking animatedly with the very person Oikawa had come here to see.<br/>
“Dai-chan,” he said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.<br/>
“It’s Oikawa-san! Hello!” Hinata quipped excitedly from behind the counter.<br/>
“Hello Oikawa,” Daichi greeted as well.<br/>
Oikawa nodded at Hinata, who had already run off to tend to another customer.<br/>
“You wanted to talk to me?” Oikawa inquired.<br/>
“Yes, yes. Let’s go sit and then we can talk.”</p><p>“I hope I didn’t bother you, you said Monday’s are most flexible for you?”<br/>
“Yeah, I don’t have to go to the office on Mondays. Although that comes at a price,” Oikawa said bitterly, thinking back on the icy morning.<br/>
“I can imagine.”<br/>
Once again, Oikawa was stuck by how open Daichi’s face was. Not in the gullible way, but in the way that made you feel you could trust him with your life.<br/>
The man leaned forward. “I want to talk to you about Suga.”<br/>
“I figured as much.”<br/>
Daichi looked slightly abashed.<br/>
“I’m sorry, I just worry about him. He’s been through some pretty rough scrapes and after an incident that happened a few years ago… he is a changed man.”<br/>
Oikawa’s interest piqued. <br/>
“Oh, how so?”<br/>
“Not that he changed in any drastic way, he just… suddenly became prone to bouts of isolation. He had always been passionate about serving justice and reporting the whole truth of it, but at some point he started being obsessed about it. Whenever he’d get a new story, he would pursue it to the ends of the earth if he needed to, with complete disregard for himself or those around him.” Daichi wrung his hands together, his face showing more worry the longer he spoke.<br/>
“He’s always been kind, he’s always helped those who needed it, but after completing his master’s degree in New York-”<br/>
“New York?”<br/>
“-yes… He came back to Japan changed. Still kind, but with this dogged determination that, quite honestly, scared me.”<br/>
“Which is why you asked me to take care of him?”<br/>
Daichi’s eyes were pleading when they looked at him again.<br/>
“He just needs to know someone is there.”<br/>
“Can’t you be that for him? Or literally anyone who has known him for a period of time that is not two weeks?” <br/>
Oikawa felt a bit out of his depth, and inadequate. If his own friends could not get through to him, why did Daichi think he could?<br/>
“Because, firstly he is forced to spend time with you. Although it won’t stop him from pushing you away, so keep a look out for that.”<br/>
Oikawa scoffed, “He has to actually tell me what’s up before he can do that.”<br/>
“Secondly, from what I know about you, you’re his natural antithesis. You can handle what he doles out, so to speak.”<br/>
“You’re saying we’re a match made in heaven?”<br/>
Daichi smiled. “Something like that. But Oikawa,” he added, “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I think Suga is perfectly capable and able to do what he sets out to do. What worries me is the fact that he becomes something other than himself whenever he does. I’m afraid one day he’ll wake up, and no longer recognise the person he sees in the mirror.”<br/>
Oikawa nodded his head. Yet more for him to put on the list of things that he needed to figure out about Sugawara.<br/>
“You know, Oikawa,” Daichi’s voice was low and laced with sadness, “demons run, when a good man goes to war. But, if they fight for too long, forgoing too much of what makes them human… they might wake to find themselves indistinguishable from the demons.”<br/>
Oikawa could not explain why, but when he looked into Daichi’s eyes after the man had spoken, he wanted to cry.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you prefer the chapters to be typeset in a different way (with there being larger spaces between dialogue ect) let me know. i know a lot of fics are typset way differently, and if that makes it easier for you guys to read or enjoy, let me know. i know my typsetting looks dense. or i think so. anyway, i hope you are all well!</p><p>note: also i realised that when i wrote Kiyoko is Daichi's partner you might misunderstand. she's his partner at work, not as in they are in a relationship lmao.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. reconnection and reconnaissance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*extra long chapter jazz hands*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Alright,” Oikawa blinked his eyes rapidly, forcing back the tears, “but under one condition.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daichi looked so relieved Oikawa thought he could ask the man to pay his rent for a year and he would agree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, let’s hear it,” Daichi said eagerly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa cleared his throat. He did not know what he was, but something had happened to make Daichi trust him with something as precious as Suga. Figuring that he was not going to get the answer to that particular riddle anytime soon, he decided to take advantage of the influence he had over Daichi. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Apologise to Suga.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” Daichi was clearly taken aback.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About the other day, in the park. He won’t apologise to you, I can tell.” Oikawa took a deep breath. “But I can also tell that he wants you to be a part of… whatever it is he is involved in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was being truthful. The amount of time he had spent with Suga was short compared to how normal relationships evolve, but his relationship with Suga was anything but normal and he was starting to see that more and more. He was observing the man’s every move all hours of the work day for crying out loud. It had just served to make him even more conscious of Suga’s presence. Even deeper than that though, was what he had found when he was snooping around Suga’s desk one day. He had hoped to find a clue as to the bigger picture of all the research he had been doing. The search turned out to be fruitless, except for one thing. Inside one of Suga’s desk drawers, there was a scrap of paper that had two names written on it. One of the names was Daichi’s and next to it, encircled in bright red, another name; Washijō Tanji. He had no clue as to who the second name belonged to, but he deduced that Suga was looking to enlist Daichi to help with something in connection to that name.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daichi’s lips formed a tight line. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know he does. But-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No buts Policeman-san.” Oikawa wagged his finger in front of Daichi’s face. “I don’t want to be the man who needs to keep wandering between your stalemate. Suga won’t apologise and even if you don’t agree with whatever it is he told you, you need to say sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Oikawa interrupted, “you know I’m right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa smiled. Of course he was. He knew what was up with these kinds of situations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But,” Daichi continued, “What was I supposed to do? I mean, Oikawa,” Daichi looked at him pointedly, “what other reaction could I have given when he confronted me with the information out of the blue?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa did not answer, because what was he supposed to say? He knew nothing. A small fact that still peeved him greatly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Daichi gave him a puzzled look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa, what did you think? What should I have done about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you mean about whatever was in the file?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I wouldn’t know. Since Suga has not told me what it is exactly what we are chasing after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daichi looked so dumbstuck it was almost comical.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You- you’re serious. He hasn’t told you… anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a thing.” he gave a rueful grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s-” Daichi cut himself off, face lighting up as his eyes fell on something behind Oikawa- “oh, I’m sorry. My partner just arrived. You don’t mind, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was not even looking at Oikawa anymore, focused completely on the person that had presumably just entered the store.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa smiled. How could he possibly mind, when there was someone that made this conflicted man so happy?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at all Dai-chan,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he stood up, “Hajime!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hajime? Oikawa froze, could it be? No, he was being paranoid, what were the odds that Daichi’s Hajime and his Hajime were the same person? In the midst of trying to convince himself that he was starting to finally lose it, a voice behind him spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello Daichi, sorry I got caught up in court.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa closed his eyes, because he knew that voice. He would always know that voice. A voice that had berated him, advised him, called his name on the volleyball court, celebrating victory. A voice that reached deep within him and curled around his insides. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He stood up and turned around, eyes meeting those of Iwaizumi Hajime, dressed in a navy blue suit, hair slicked back with a briefcase in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt as if every emotion possible came crashing down at the sight of him. He wanted to hug Iwa, punch him. Wanted to hang his head in apology, but wanted to also puff up his chest and make his friend apologise. What was Iwaizumi thinking? What would be going through his mind? Would he shout at him and walk away like that day so many years ago? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did not know what to expect, and it ate at him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello Oikawa. It’s been a long time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of all the things that could have happened, Iwaizumi smiling at him, greeting him with no reservations, was not one of the things he expected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Iwaizumi, yes it has,” he gave a small bow of his head. He wondered if Iwaizumi also felt the tension, or if he was the only one bothered by what was happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daichi stood as the calm observer to their interaction. Oikawa had no idea how much he knew, or didn’t know, but he certainly seemed unphased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hajime, do you have any time?” The smile had not left Daichi’s face, and his eyes were gazing at Iwaizumi with a tenderness Oikawa did not know was possible. Their intimacy caught him off guard for a moment, and then he remembered what Daichi had said right before Iwaizumi had joined them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My partner.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much, I need to get back. But I can have a quick lunch with you,” Iwaizumi’s free hand squeezed Daichi’s arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Oikawa broke the interaction between them, “your partner is Iwaizumi?” he gestured between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men looked at him like he was stupid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yes,” Daichi responded as if it was obvious, “have been for a few years now.” He smiled at Iwaizumi.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m,” Oikawa searched for words, “so happy for both of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t lying, but this was not how Oikawa expected his day to go, and he had no idea how to process it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go order something for you,” Daichi said to Iwaizumi, leaving him alone with Oikawa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say, but Iwaizumi beat him to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to go get a drink,” his words were not unkind, and Oikawa eyed him closely, trying to get a read on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The face in front of him was honest and hope fluttered like a bird in Oikawa’s chest before he could help it. It had been more than six years since they had last spoken, but the memories of the way they had parted played through his head like it had happened yesterday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” his voice was soft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. I’ll see you at…” Iwaizumi glanced at his watch, “nine-thirty?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iwaizumi smiled and it was genuine, shattering any kind of defense Oikawa had left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No time like the present, is there Oikawa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess not Iwa-chan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nickname was a test, it was an extension of truce. Hell, it was an apology. Iwaizumi nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tendou’s, I’m guessing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be late,” Iwaizumi hesitated, “loserkawa.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The weight between them lifted. They were a long way from having resolved their issues, but in that moment, Oikawa knew everything would work out in the end. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suga knew he should be getting back to the office. Oikawa would show up at some point to give him the photos. Maybe today would be the day where he would find something from them. Maybe today would not be exactly like all the other days, sifting fruitlessly through names that no longer held meaning. If only he could find something, anything, perhaps then the kanji would stop forming shapeless images that kept him from sleep. He felt like a man standing in the middle of a desert, searching, ever searching for the oasis of answers. Damn it all. Deep inside his rational mind he knew that there was no such thing as the magical piece of evidence that cracked a case wide open. He knew it took many different pieces, hours of checking the edges of each of them to see where they fit in the puzzle. The problem was that at the present moment, all those pieces were piled in front of him, a dizzying mountain that he did not know how to start climbing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had come to a park to clear his mind, but somehow it had done nothing to chase away the mounting anxiety within him. In the quiet, instead of finding peace, he was being confronted with all of the things he could not bear. The many unravelling strands of his consciousness. He needed to get a grip, and quickly. If only he could find-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga’s head snapped up at the sound of a female voice addressing him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was sitting on her haunches in front of him and the first thing he thought was that she looked like a post-impressionist art piece. She sat there, all short-cropped curls and an oversized woolen sweater that sported every happy colour possible. One of her ears contained at least six piercings, yet the other was strangely devoid of any at all, making her look unbalanced, somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face was curious, and concerned. The grey eyes that peered from the mass of freckles were easy to read, every question she had written within them, without trying to hide it. Before he could answer her, she spoke again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been sitting here for an hour now, staring at the ground. Sorry if this is too forward of me, but…” she trailed off and started twirling a ring round and around her thumb. Strangely enough, Suga did not feel at all affronted by the sudden invasion. She had so surprised him, it was as if she had shoved aside his anxieties and placed herself in the space they had been occupying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your Japanese,” he spoke and she lifted her head, listening earnestly, “it’s very good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” she twirled the thumb ring even faster, “my dad is Japanese.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” it was the first thing that came to mind, looking at the position she had not moved out of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not at all! I like sitting this way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga smiled. She was odd, he liked it. “What’s your name?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Megumi. Yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sugawara Koushi,” he extended his hand, “nice to meet you, Megumi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Megumi’s face brightened at the gesture, taking his hand in her own firm grip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise!” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled brightly. “Sugawara-san,” her face grew somewhat serious once again, “is something bothering you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga sighed. He was not about to spill his problems to a strange young woman in the park, but he did not have the heart to turn her away. Megumi looked at him with so much sincerity in her eyes, an innocence that reminded himself of, well, himself. The him from four years ago, the times before everything went wrong and he was rudely disillusioned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m… simply having a tough time. Dealing with matters that I struggle to grasp,” he said finally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Many people can relate to that, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well, I doubt many of them have to work in my field,” he clasped his hands together, bitterness lacing his words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter.” Megumi had now sat down, cross legged on the ground in front of Suga, looking him in the eyes in much the same way he liked to do with people. Being on the receiving end, it made him realise how unnerving it could be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head, curls bouncing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you do, but I teach classical literature at Tokyo University.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shock number one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In humanities,” she continued, “I get to experience human nature firsthand. Let me tell you, struggling with matters that seem out of your hands is something everyone deals with. On different scales, in different walks of life. Objectively, some things may be more difficult, some situations worse. However,” she raised her finger in the air, “what matters is not the situation, but how you react to said situation. One of the great freedoms in life is how we react to things, and many forget that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shock number two.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fumbling sunshine girl had completely changed his initial impression of her in less than five minutes. Caught on his back foot, Suga had no idea how to deal with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you react to things then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled a small smile. “Not in a way that will help you, I’m afraid. I’ve been through my fair share of scrambling-for-answers-sitting-alone-in-a-park times, but my way doesn’t work for everyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m at an all-time loss, so might as well share?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chuckled. “I focus on that which makes me happy, calms my soul. The things I like. Then I write a story.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her eyes shifted, as if she was focusing on something far away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sometimes in my head, sometimes they make it onto a page, those happy things. I whisk myself away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Megumi had captivated Suga. He knew, deep down that this was someone who had experienced their fair share of exhaustion, hurt and doubt. Despite this, it did not make her cynical. It made her hopeful. It was as plain as day. So he asked the only thing he could think of at that moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you like?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The simplest question you could ever ask someone, but he wanted to know. He genuinely did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Megumi stared even further away and Suga could see she was there. The place where she was happy, unbothered by the rain, the wind, the dreary of everyday life. He wished, suddenly, that he could be there with her. She hummed, closed her eyes and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll think me foolish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t,” his reply was immediate, and truthful. She had already made him a fool, for hoping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes still closed, she spoke again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I like people who fill their heads with senseless things. I like… detours, empty buildings and happy endings.” Her eyes shot open. “Oh, and flowers!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached next to her and only then did Suga notice the brown paper wrapping. Within it, and tied up with a string, was a bunch of dried flowers. Muted blues, purples, whites and pinks, bundled together in the perfect winter bouquet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beautiful,” Suga whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Megumi smiled, and then shocked Sugawara for the third time. She took his hand, turned it upwards so that the back rested in her palm, and pressed the flowers into his, closing his fingers around it with her other hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat in stunned silence, looking at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For you.” Then she stood up in one fluid motion and looked down at Suga, still on the bench. “No buts, no returns,” she scolded, sounding every bit the teacher. “My girlfriend will be happier with cake anyway. Until we meet again, Sugawara Koushi.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga could only nod, staring at the flowers. When he thought to thank her, he looked up, but she was already gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ten minutes passed before the brightness Megumi had brought into his world of despair faded as he realised once more how alone he was. She had come and gone, a whirlwind of hope. He could not cling onto foolish sentiments. Trying to think about that which made him happy, to transport himself away, that would only hinder the task at hand. If he spent his days trying to calm himself, he would not get anywhere. What he ‘liked’ did not matter anyway.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She had blown in, and back out of his life. She was gone, and he was the one who had to deal with people dying, people being murdered. It was an exercise in futility to try and see the good in the world, at least right now. This is what he told himself on the way back to the Shimbun. The fact that he kept the flowers, that he held them gently, close to his chest, meant nothing. Nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa whistled as he made his way up to Suga’s office. His day, all things considered, was going pretty great. The usual laborious task of taking boat photos was made less so by the company of Osamu. The sex was great, and even though it was just a sliver, some light had been shed on Suga. To top it all off, he was going to be able to patch up a relationship with his best friend. It had only taken them eight years, but you know what? Better late than never. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still whistling, he stepped through the elevator doors, toying with the USB in his hand. He set his sights on the corner office, but as he neared it, something started to feel off. Instead his usual pacing up and down the length of the office, Suga seemed to be kneeling on the floor. As he reached the office, Oikawa burst through the door without even bothering to knock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Senpai? Are you alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rounding the desk, the scene he witnessed made his eyes widen and his stomach churn. He had never been particularly good with blood, and right now there was a lot of it. Suga was clutching his hand, which looked to be the source of it all, and around him were shards of broken glass. Gulping down the nausea that he felt in his throat, Oikawa fell down on his knees next to Suga, taking the injured hand in his own, smearing them with the blood. Why was there so much?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need help.” his hands were shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down, Oikawa-san,” Suga said with a tight voice, “I’m fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa looked at Suga. The man was sweating, his grey hair sticking to his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are not fine. You need to go to the hospital!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa was not sure, but this much blood probably meant Suga would need stitches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa-san, it’s not that bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that bad? Look at it!” he snapped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga looked back down to his hand, the flow of blood not showing any signs of stopping</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa could feel anger bubbling inside of him. Was this the disregard Daichi had mentioned? Even with something as simple as a cut on the hand, Suga was refusing help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop denying it senpai,” Oikawa ground his teeth, trying to keep his cool, “Stay here, I’ll be back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The medical aid course he had taken in high school had kicked in. He made his way to where they kept the emergency medical kit, and then rushed back as fast as his legs would carry him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he got back, Suga was sitting on his chair, hand over the small office bin in an attempt to not spill any more blood on the floor. He was using his other hand to apply some form of pressure in order to stem the flow. Oikawa took one look at the situation and decided they were going to have to make a very awkward walk to the bathroom, which they did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After washing away most of the blood, Oikawa had steered Suga to one of the stalls. So, with Suga seated on one of the toilets, Oikawa steeled himself and kneeled down next to Suga, gently taking his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re making too much of a fuss,” Suga said, but Oikawa knew there was no substance to his words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you hurt yourself, senpai?” He asked, as he went about disinfecting the wound, wincing as he looked at it. Suga’s fingers were so slim, the glaring red gash across his palm a stark contrast to the unmarred skin of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dropped a vase.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A vase?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried to catch it as it fell, but it knocked into the wall and well, this was the result.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you need a vase for, senpai?” Oikawa asked. He pressed a plaster over the wound, which he thought definitely needed stitches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… well. I was gifted flowers today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa stopped in the middle of wrapping bandages around Suga’s hand. Suga did not seem like someone who would take to keeping flowers, so who would have given it to him? He decided to ignore the weird twist in his stomach. It had never occurred to him that Suga might have a lover, but now it was starting to become a very real possibility. Who had given him flowers? He decided to ask at much</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A woman. In a park,” was Suga’s answer, as he craned his neck to see what Oikawa was doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just some random woman?” Oikawa continued wrapping the bandages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, actually.” The tone of Sugawara’s voice was stange. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Oikawa finished wrapping the hand, he looked at Suga. The expression on the man’s face was pained, somehow. What had happened to him? He wondered if there was more to the woman that Suga had let on. No one just gave you flowers out of nowhere, so why? Knowing he would not get any answers, he did not ask any questions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to go to a hospital,” he said instead. His anger, while lessened, had not disappeared. Suga did not have an option here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll need stitches.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll come with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause. Only when Suga pulled his hand away did Oikawa realise he had never let it go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ride to the hospital in the taxi was a quiet one. Suga looked at Oikawa, who was staring out of the window, chin resting in the palm of his hand. He did not know that Oikawa could be so gentle. The way he had held Suga’s hand, as if it were something that could break. For all his brazenness, he had taken exceptional care while cleaning the wound. When he stormed into Suga’s office, the look on his face had been so worried. How much did Oikawa know about him? The concern could not possibly have developed from the time they had spent together? Then again, they did spend every single day in each other’s company. People had fallen in love for less. He looked at the man next to him once more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The late-afternoon sun bathed Oikawa’s face in an orange glow, it’s rays softening the pensive look on his sharp features. He looked like he belonged in a photograph, the handsome face so obviously burdened with thoughts of something indecipherable to a passer-by. Outside, the traffic and city noises were all Suga could hear, static to the tension in the backseat of the taxi they were seated in. He briefly wondered if the thoughts plaguing Oikawa were thoughts of him. Certainly Oikawa was not someone to get so worried over a coworker. If not, what was it? </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His thoughts were interrupted by the taxi stopping in front of the door of the hospital, where he got out and, in an interesting change of pace, followed Oikawa inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It turned out that he did need stitches after all. By some miracle, he had not cut any of the muscles or tendons in his hand so badly that he needed surgery. Oikawa had sat with him during the whole process, as silent and pensive as he was in the car. He only spoke up once, to thank the doctor when she had finished, but fell into silence as they made their way out of the hospital. Suga did not try to start a conversation, he had the very distinct feeling that whatever Oikawa was mulling over, he should not be interrupted. He would be lying, however, if he said that the uncharacteristic stoicism was not starting to get to him. If this was how Oikawa was going to react to him getting a cut on his hand, maybe it was a good thing that he had not told Oikawa the scope of what they were dealing with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They stepped out into the night, the city lights illuminating the world around them. Never a quiet moment here in Tokyo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have no choice now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga started at the sound of Oikawa’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa’s breath formed in the night air as he took a few seconds to breathe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wednesday. Drinks. You and me.” His hands ran through his hair in a motion that looked a lot like frustration, before looking towards Suga.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the brown eyes that had fixed upon him, there was no room for negotiation. In any case, he probably owed Oikawa this much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Worried about me, are we?” he teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” His voice was low, barely a whisper, but Suga heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was enough. After this emotional rollercoaster of a day, it was enough to soften his resolve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he conceded, “I hate bars though, so if you bring the drinks, I’ll provide my apartment to be the location.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga half-expected a flirty quip from the other man, something about proximity and bringing another man into his home, but it never came. Instead, Oikawa merely nodded his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Works for me.” He raised his hand to hail a cab, and as he did so, Suga's eye caught the glint of a bracelet that so often adorned Oikawa’s arm. He had seen it before, but never mentioned it. However now, he felt the need to dissolve the mood Oikawa was in before they parted ways. The worst thing to do was leave with unresolved tension. It made for awkward working environments, he had found.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I see that?” he asked, on impulse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa turned to him with a puzzled expression, then saw where Suga was gesturing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stuck out his arm for Suga to see. Around his wrist was a simple silver bracelet, nothing special at first glance, but it was the clasp that had made Suga notice it when he had seen it up close. Made from iron, it was shaped in the form of a leaf, with a small hole at the point where the one end of the silver band clicked into. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga traced the shape of the leaf, the ridges and dents of what he now saw was actually a  carefully crafted piece of work, instead of the deceivingly simple design one would be fooled into thinking at first glance. His fingers brushed Oikawa’s arm as he was inspecting the bracelet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where did you find this?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah…” Oikawa faltered, “I-I’m not sure actually. I can’t remember.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, then in that case.” Oikawa jerked his arm back in a sudden movement, his fingers fumbling with the clasp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“H-here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga gazed at Oikawa, the man who had gone from stoic and demanding to… was it flustered? It could be the cold of the night, but Oikawa’s face sure was extraordinarily flushed for someone who had only been in the cold for a small amount of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped his train of thought as Oikawa stepped in close and took his arm, pushing up the sleeves of Suga’s sweater and clasping the bracelet onto his own arm. As soon as the bracelet was fastened, Oikawa dropped Suga’s arm like he had touched something hot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa, I couldn’t possibly take this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I insist. You look like you like it more than I do anyway.” He shuffled his feet. “Um, I’ll get a taxi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga had absolutely no idea how to deal with what had just happened, so he just stood where Oikawa had left him, a warm feeling starting to brew in the pit of his stomach. This was the second time in one day he had called something beautiful, and for the second time the other person had reacted by giving him the object in question. Both times, it had started because someone had acted out of concern and offered their help. Suga thought about Megumi’s hands, they held the same warmth as that of Oikawa’s body as he had fastened the bracelet around Suga’s wrist. He had forgotten what it felt like to feel the closeness of another. He looked down at his wrist, the metal blinking in the light cast from the hospital sign behind him. It was dangerous, this closeness, this warmth. He knew it was, he had known it when he had met Megumi, and was all the more aware of it now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he found himself looking at the bracelet for the entire drive home.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Suga had climbed into the taxi, Oikawa gave a mental sigh of relief. The dark of night had now completely arrived. It had been close to the end of the work day when Oikawa had stepped into the Shimbun, and the whole ordeal with Suga had taken up quite a bit of time. Oh man. Sugawara. What was it about the man that made him act like such an idiot? He even gave Suga his bracelet. It must be the fact that he had spent the better part of two weeks observing Suga. This job must really be getting to him. Well, at least he finally got him to agree to drinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crap. The weird twist in his stomach returned. No way he could deal with that right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slapping his cheeks with his hands, he pulled himself together. His day was far from over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was nine pm when he ambled his way into Tendou’s, scanning the bar for any sign of Iwaizumi. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa!” He heard the call from a booth in the corner, and once he spotted Iwaizumi, he made his way there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Iwa-chan,” he greeted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello Oikawa,” Iwaizumi was smiling. This was good. Oikawa felt his nerves calm. He knew what he had to do. As soon as he sat down, he started to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Iwa-chan, I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Oikawa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You could have toppled him with a feather.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re… what now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iwaizumi laughed heartily at Oikawa’s reaction, laughter that just kept on going because of the increasing confusion Oikawa was experiencing at seeing Iwaizumi laugh. It was not sarcastic, or mischievous, the man was genuinely laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He calmed down when one of the barhands came and placed two whiskeys in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your face is priceless, Oikawa,” he hiccuped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the king of keeping a straight face just started laughing. Out loud. After apologising to me. Me. Oikawa,” he looked as Iwaizumi dried the tears in his eyes, “what exactly has Daichi done to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this, Iwaizumi smiled, lifting his glass to his lips. “Tamed me, I suppose.” When he set his glass down, he grew stern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious, Oikawa. I am sorry. What I did at graduation, it was uncalled for. I was jealous, selfish and scared. My best friend was moving on to grand things and I was being left behind. I lashed out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iwaizumi was the better man, Oikawa knew this. He knew he did not deserve the apology, it had not been Iwa alone that caused their friendship to crumble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry too. I had completely abandoned those who had stood by my side for years, focusing on myself. I was selfish too. You did not deserve that. No one should have to hear their friend tell them that they didn’t need them to be happy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iwaizumi gave a sad smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bygones?” It was a peace offering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa nodded. “Bygones. I would like to have my friend back now, thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iwaizumi raised his glass. “To new old friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa raised his own in response. “May they be less petty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glasses clinked, and it was this action that made Oikawa notice something that had completely passed him by before. It was a golden ring adorning Iwaizumi’s ring finger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re kidding me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m what now?” Iwaizumi asked from behind his glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You… when the hell did you get engaged?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iwaizumi blushed. Actually blushed, and now Oikawa was experiencing a whole new slew of emotions that he had not thought possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He asked me a month ago,” Iwaizumi said with averted eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Iwa-chan! That’s, I’m so glad for you!” He was. He really, honestly was. His best friend was engaged. With no intention of missing out on this suddenly very important part of Iwaizumi’s life, he badgered him until Iwa came clean about how everything had happened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Initially, Iwaizumi had given up his spot in Tokyo university to go study law at Nagoya university.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You petty bastard, you were trying to tell me to fuck off weren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well of course. I was angry,” Iwaizumi said matter-of-factly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After two years of studying there, Iwaizumi’s temper had cooled somewhat and he had realised how isolated he had made himself by moving away from everything he knew. Thus it came that he transferred back to Tokyo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Enter Sugawara Koushi. They met by chance since the two of them shared the same Criminal Law class.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I swear everyone knows Suga,” Oikawa mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He gets around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop interrupting my story.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If it were not for Sugawara, he would have never met Daichi. The law faculty was having a dinner party, of sorts, and even though Iwaizumi had not wanted to go, Suga had pulled him along. Suga had also invited Daichi. As luck, or fate, would have it, they were seated next to each other and immediately hit it off. The rest was history. They had spent a lot of time together, neither one of them doing anything about the obvious tension between them. This continued until the day they went along to the airport to see Suga off the day he flew to New York. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If the two of you aren’t in a relationship by the time I get back, there will be a serious intervention.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those were his actual last words to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You better believe it. He did his damage and left with just a cheeky wink, leaving the both of us to deal with the carnage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like a more carefree Suga than the one I know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Unfortunately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sensing the conversation was about to take a heavy turn, Oikawa shifted gears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” he forced his voice to be bright, “What happened next?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There had been about five minutes of blushing and awkward foot shuffling before Daichi, red as a tomato, confessed. Iwaizumi followed suit soon after and now, four years later, they were engaged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa looked at his friend. Iwaizumi had told the story like an excited school boy. They had been friends since childhood, and maybe it was the whiskey, but he had never seen Iwaizumi like this. Excited, happy. Blushing and in love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all he had ever wanted for Iwa. To find someone who adored him and loved him, returning his devotion in equal measure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pushing all his own anxieties to the back of his mind, Oikawa allowed himself to live in the joy of a friendship restored, to be the witness of love that heals even the deepest wounds. He needed to thank Daichi later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was two in the morning when Suga closed his laptop. Three cups of coffee stood on his desk, not the best decision someone in his position could have made to deal with tiredness. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He dragged his feet to his room. Before slumping onto his bed, he checked his phone. As coincidence would have it, it started ringing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kenma.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suga-san. You’re up?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would seem so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come to the below tomorrow. I have something that you’ll be interested in.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. spiteful ukuleles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there is a flashback in this chapter that might be kind of confusing. the dotted line indicates the start of the flashback and when they appear again, that signifies the return to present day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sweat was dripping off his body, rolling down his face, stinging his eyes. His clothes clung to his aching body as he stood, breath racing, chest heaving. He made a feeble attempt to lift his arms, but they felt like dead weight and he knew they would be useless. When the gloved fist swung towards him, his poor excuse of a block was easily breached. The force of the fist hit his shoulder and knocked him off balance. Not even bothering to try, Oikawa hit the floor of the boxing ring with a resounding thud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey. Oikawa, my dude. Are you here?” Bokuto, glove now removed, was waving his hand over Oikawa’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa gave a groan in response. He had already been tired out from his unexpectedly long night out with Iwaizumi on Monday, and then in yet another stunning turn of events, he had run himself ragged on Tuesday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had bargained on having some or the other research project assigned to him by Suga, where he could shirk his responsibilities and take a nap. No such luck though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here. Boku-chan, stop waving your hands in front of me,” he whined, pushing away the man kneeling over him. There was no strength in the gesture, so it turned out to be an exercise in futility.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously bro,” Bokuto said after a few more seconds of tormenting the exhausted Oikawa, “What’s up? I’ve seen bags of potatoes that could move better than you today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa clicked his teeth and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was drenched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I spent yesterday running after Suga again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought that he wasn’t dragging you around anymore? Aren’t you pretty much a paper pusher for him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wasn’t. Past tense being the important thing here,” Oikawa said, ignoring the jab. Not being able to take photos was definitely one of the worst things about working with Suga. Taking photos of boats and then doing hours of mindless research? Now that was just adding insult to injury.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yikes bro. Sucks to be you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m dying inside, truly,” Oikawa groaned, thinking back on the previous day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After snoozing his blaring alarm for the third time, Oikawa had jumped out of bed with a speed fueled purely by the fact that he had never been late for work, and was not planning on finding out exactly how Sugawara reacted to latecomers. His morning was a hurried montage of hopping into his clothes as he practically inhaled some black coffee and a slice of toast, while trying to also brush his teeth. The results of his efforts were; a stubbed toe, bruised knee and aggravated headache. Despite all of this, he had managed to make it to work on time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was walking up to the front doors, grumbling and feeling sorry for himself, when he spotted a figure with a familiar shock of grey hair standing in front of the building. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sugawara-senpai.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sugawara looked up, his nose and ears tinted pink. Somewhere in the back of his mind Oikawa wondered how long the man had been standing there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa-san, great timing. We’re going out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Out where?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kenma’s,” Suga started walking down the street, “Come on. Don’t dawdle, we need to hurry or we won’t make it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, crap,” he whispered underneath his breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa had met Kenma once before. It had been a completely chance encounter: Suga had invited him along for lunch at Hinata’s coffee shop and he had readily agreed. When they entered the shop, the warm scents enveloping them, his eyes immediately fell upon one of the patrons that was busy making conversation with Hinata. Well, it was less of making conversation and more like unresponsive listening. Hinata was talking in his usual animated manner, and the object of his attention was fiddling with a portable video game console. Every now and then, he would nod his head or say a few short sentences, without ever lifting his eyes from the console. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga followed his eyes and saw what Oikawa was looking at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you haven’t met him yet, have you? That’s Kenma.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is Hinata trying so hard to hold a conversation? That guy is clearly being a dick.” Oikawa was feeling pissed off at this Kenma person. He was dressed in all black, a hoodie and sweatpants, but somehow was managing to still look stylish. Long, black hair with a mostly-grown out bleach job, was tied in a knot at the base of his nape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa scowled. This guy’s entire vibe was annoying him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga must have noticed the animosity in his face, because he gave a muffled chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me introduce you,” he grabbed Oikawa’s arm and started dragging him to the counter, “I’m sure you’ll get along famously.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in Suga’s voice made him suspicious, but he nevertheless allowed himself to be led to where Hinata and Kenma were having their sad excuse of an interaction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa-san!” He gave an involuntary smile as Hinata’s bright voice called his name. The kid’s happiness was infectious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t I get a greeting, Hinata-kun?” Suga said next to him in mock offence, ruffling the short man’s orange hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hinata laughed and immediately started chatting away, until Suga interrupted him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hinata-kun, Oikawa-san over here hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting Kenma yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hinata looked from Kenma, who was still playing his game, deft fingers pressing all the buttons in different combinations, to Oikawa. He blinked his eyes rapidly, then a look of revelation crossed his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! Yeah you totally haven’t!” He leaned over the counter and pressed his index finger on the tip of Kenma’s nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch closely,” Oikawa started as Suga leaned in to him and whispered, “Hinata-kun is the only one who can do this and get away with it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kenma,” Hinata’s voice, usually so loud and clear, was so soft and tender that Oikawa could scarcely believe he was the one talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time since Oikawa had laid eyes upon him, Kenma looked up from the screen in front of him, right at Hinata.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shoyo,” and the way he said it made it clear that he was not paying attention to anyone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hinata took his finger from Kenma’s nose and pointed it at Oikawa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look! It’s Suga-san’s friend, Oikawa Tooru-san. You haven’t met yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cat-like eyes that seemed to scan him with an intense scrutiny fixed upon Oikawa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello. Kozume Kenma. Nice to meet you,” he fixed his eyes on Hinata again, and without waiting for a response from Oikawa, started playing his game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Oikawa completely snapped, he felt Suga’s hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t take it personally. He may look like he hates you, but he’s just shy,” Suga thought for a while, “Or he thinks you’re boring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga shushed his exclamation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had spent the rest of that interaction talking to Hinata, Oikawa silently seething about the fact that he could ever be thought of as boring. It was absolutely preposterous. Who the hell was Kenma to think that he could be so full of himself and get away with it?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suga definitely picked up on it, because he spent the entire walk back to the Shimbun explaining the type of person Kenma was to Oikawa. Apparently he was some kind of genius kid, rarely coming out of his shell. People made him anxious and so he preferred to keep his interactions with them to a minimum. What Oikawa found particularly infuriating, however, was the fact that the kid was entirely self-made. His own company, a streamer, a stock trader and apparently, Sugawara’s informant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Oikawa,” Suga taunted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grunts Oikawa gave in reply had been enough to make him burst into laughter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This first encounter had not instilled any fond feelings for Kenma in his heart, so it was with much internal moaning that they made their way to wherever Kenma was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga took him to a hotel that had no visible name on the front, the first odd thing. Upon entering the building, Oikawa felt immediate discomfort. He glanced around the spotless interior of chrome and black that made up the reception. Nothing was out of place here. From the people, to the furniture, everything was sleek, polished, clean cut. It seemed almost cold. Oikawa was struck with the awareness of how big his cardigan was on his body, the fact that his button-up shirt was old. The few patrons that were around, lounging on stiff-looking sofas, were all impeccably dressed. It was only when he felt Sugawara shiver next to him that Oikawa noticed how uncomfortable he, too, seemed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Homey,” he remarked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga gave a wry smile and eyed the clock on the wall. “Don’t worry, I don’t get it either. Hinata-kun hates it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could ask why Hinata’s opinion on the matter was important, the clock struck nine and Suga started moving. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had walked up to the receptionist’s desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Room 555. For room service.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The receptionist nodded like it was not the weirdest thing a client could say to him, and gestured to the lift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Room service?” Oikawa asked as they walked over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sugawara gave the smile Oikawa was so used to seeing by now, a smile that kept so many things behind it, one tinged with mischief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nevermind,” he huffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They approached the elevator and Suga repeated the same words to an attendant, the face of which was so expressionless that Oikawa was starting to doubt the people who worked here were actually people at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the attendant pressed the circular pad to the number 555, and the elevator went down instead of up, he decided that trying to figure out what the deal with this hotel was, was just as much an exercise in futility than trying to figure out Suga’s motives and plans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator hit the bottom with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ding, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the doors opened into a hallway lit with blue lights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doors closed behind them and Oikawa followed Suga as they walked down the black-carpeted hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a joke right? Because this is way too… spy film weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kenma is just a little eccentric like this. It’s fine, we love him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa did not miss the fond expression on Suga’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are the people here even real? They look like robots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga laughed. “I think that was actually something Kenma asked for? Since he practically owns the building, he doesn’t want to bother having to deal with so many people, not to mention complicated emotions. So it’s actually a contractional thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And people… don’t mind?” Oikawa was baffled. This didn’t sound fun at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think if you come here, then you are a particular type of person anyway. Besides, tourists aren’t really the target market.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had come to the end of the hallway, and Suga pressed open the door at the end. The sight that awaited them was a bit too much for Oikawa. The room was, like the hallway, lit by blue lights. There were fish tanks, posters of games he was unfamiliar with, a bed, a cat, many different shades of grey, white, red, and so, so many screens. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I quit. I’ve walked onto a cliche film set. This is where it ends for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Such drama, Oikawa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga headed down the steps that led into the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so now where is the man of the hour, huh?” Oikawa asked, glancing around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh,” Suga pointed to one of the couches that were positioned in front of what was the biggest television Oikawa had seen in his life. It was currently alight with the images of some or the other fantasy game. This wasn’t what Suga was pointing to, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Oikawa turned his eyes to the couch, he realised why Suga had mentioned Hinata when talking about the hotel’s interior decoration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, on the couch, the orange hair vibrant against a black hoodie, was the sleeping form of Hinata, snuggled up against Kenma. In contrast to his boyfriend, Kenma was very much awake. Once he noticed the two men in his space, he lifted one of his hands from the controller, he pointed at his desk before turning his full attention back to the screen, sparing them only the most fleeting of glances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa stared at the scene of the two young men on the couch. Hinata’s energetic demeanour was now so serene as he lay sleeping, clutching the front of Kenma’s hoodie in his hands. Kenma, Oikawa saw, was doing his utmost not to disturb Hinata. The sound that was supposed to be generated by the fight scene on the screen was absent, and he dared not shift the position that he was in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tear your eyes away Oikawa-san. I have it,” Suga spoke up, waving a file in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could only nod, and as Suga gave a wave to Kenma, they made their way out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa was quiet until they made their way out of the hotel. “They’re together?” he burst out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you knew?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously I didn’t!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well now you do,” Suga grinned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have so many questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you always?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No you don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their bickering, which had become the norm over the past two weeks, continued until they reached the Shimbun.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So after that, he told you to do some research about… what’s his name?” Bokuto asked as they made their way to the showers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Washijō Tanji.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto’s eyes widened. “Woah, isn’t he some kind of big deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Oikawa pulled his shirt over his head, “Yeah. He’s filthy rich. Has ties pretty much everywhere in government, funding some of their projects. He has done a lot for the Tokyo police force too, I found out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would Suga want you to look into him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No clue. I did find a lot of rumour posts about him too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” Bokuto lit up, “I know about those! Some people said he had to be a part of the yakuza, huh? The Shiratorizawa-kai?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa scoffed. “Yup, that’s the one. Ridiculous obviously. Most of the people who claimed it were just attention seekers on conspiracy sites,” he grabbed his soap and shampoo, “an old geezer like him? Nah. His rise to the top is so well documented, no way it’s true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm… suppose,” said Bokuto before getting into the showers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The commute home was slow, serene. Oikawa liked Tokyo best at the moments just before twilight fully set in. The city seemed to shine in the orange bask of the sun, the natural light that glinted off the glass panes making them seem less man-made, somehow. There was something about the commute, walking with music in his ears, going through all the mundane motions, that calmed him. The press and push of the masses, businessmen, office workers, school children, students, they enveloped him. The bumps and rhythms of the train, the chatters that drifted through the music into his ears. City life certainly wasn’t for everyone, and Oikawa missed the country often, but there was a magic to the hubbub of life here. It was his time to reflect on the day’s events before he reached his home, to shake off most of the baggage he carried along with him before he entered his front door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s what he was doing at the moment, as his hand clung to one of the holds of the train, whiskey bottles clinking in the bag he was holding with his other. For an unknown reason, Suga had sent him to go take pictures of boats for the second time that week, even though he had done it just two days prior. The one difference with the day was that he had to take the photos not just in the morning, but also when the afternoon ships came in. Because of that, his trip to Yokohama had taken him the entire day, and he had spent a good chunk of it walking through the city, looking for time to kill. He spent most of it taking photos that he had not been able to take for a while, scenery, people passing by, still life. It was therapeutic, in its own way. On the train-ride back to Tokyo, he had started to wonder if Suga had sent him on the mission to get out of the drinks they were going to have that night, but his fears were for naught, as he received a message from the man himself affirming the time and sending him the location of his flat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa was tired and felt a bit ragged, but he was determined to make the most of the night with Suga. He would get to know the man better, he would establish trust. He would. He had to. He wanted to. So he mustered everything he could within him, dressed in the jeans that complimented his figure the best and pulled on a simple white shirt and black jacket that he hoped made him look casual, but sexy. A scarf was his final addition to the look, and that was how he showed up to Suga’s front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a breath to gather the courage that he hadn’t been aware that he needed, and rang the doorbell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The loudest, most abhorrent chime sounded. It couldn’t be called a doorbell sound. It sounded like someone banging against a gong with a metal plate. There was barely enough time for Oikawa to be shocked before a yelp sounded from somewhere within the flat, followed by a clattering sound. Then there was silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“S-Sugawara-senpai?” Oikawa called tentatively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m coming! I’m coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only a few moments later, the sound of a key in the lock sounded and Sugawara opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” he said in a breathy voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He was wearing an apron, and his face was flushed red. However out of character this may have been, this wasn’t the first thing that caught Oikawa’s attention. Putting on his best poker face, he cleared his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I commend you for your brave choice of doorbell sound senpai. Anyone who doesn’t run away after that is a worthy guest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga opened his mouth to explain, but was quickly interrupted by Oikawa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even more impressive is your choice of hair accessory,” he lifted his finger and pointed at the pieces of carrot that were somehow stuck in Suga’s hair, “Not everyone can pull off a decorative vegetable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had not known it was possible, but Suga’s face flushed an even deeper red as he combed his fingers through his hair, the bits of orange falling on the floor. When he finished, Suga gestured him into the flat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa had never really thought to imagine what the inside of Suga’s apartment would look like, but what he saw was definitely way different than what he would have expected. From what he saw of Sugawara’s workspace, he had pictured typical minimalist decor, a lot of white, everything with its proper place. That was not the case at all. First of all, plants. So many of them. Little succulents on window ledges, large potted plants that stood in front of a large window. Although it was dark, in his mind’s eye Oikawa could see how the daylight would stream through it, bathing the living room in a comfortable glow. Said room was covered in the fluffiest red rug Oikawa had ever seen, with a wooden coffee table in its centre. The couch, which occupied most of the area, looked like something you could sink into. There were a few chairs, just as comfortable looking, that sat at either side of the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walls of the flat were far from bare. Prints of different art pieces and framed vinyl covers splashed colour around, only serving to enhance the warmth felt by merely entering the apartment. In one of the corners, a tower of books was piled, with smaller piles all around, somehow looking artsy instead of lazy, with as much thought put into it than was put into the rest of the decor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suga had left Oikawa to gawk, and when he had finally torn his eyes away from all of the things that caught it, he found him in the kitchen, busy making something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite finished then?” Suga said, not unkindly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know. I didn’t expect your home to look like this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought it would look something like my office?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga stopped placing the small rice-paper rolls he was busy making on a plate, and then cast his own glance around the living room, which was only separated from the kitchen by a table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, when I came back to Japan, I decided that I wanted to live in a place that would be so far removed from the reality of my job, that I could try to forget about it while here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started placing the last of the rolls on the plate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It works, most of the time. Lately I’ve acquired the bad habit of bringing work home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up the plate. “Why don’t you pour us a drink? Glasses are in there, I’ll take this to the living room.” He shot Oikawa a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hurriedly, Oikawa complied, and soon they were seated, Oikawa on the couch and Suga on one of the chairs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand, so that’s the story of your demon doorbell,” Oikawa laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sadly. I never thought to have it fixed, and everyone knows to knock when they do come here, so when you showed up I died about five deaths.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And ended up falling down in your kitchen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And ended up falling down and taking the chopping board of carrots with me,” Suga said, taking a drink from his glass, Oikawa clutching his stomach with laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa had feared that the night would be awkward, that the impromptu drinking request was something that would go down as a disaster to never be mentioned again. On the contrary, he found that Suga was really easy to talk to. He had known that, of course, but the setting had never quite been so casual. They had fallen into conversation as naturally as if they had been old school friends. Maybe in another universe, they had been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Suga as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Suga was still shaking his head, a smile of his own spread across his face. Seeing him like this was strange. Dressed in a large, blue sweater with sleeves that came over his hands, sitting cross-legged on a chair, hair in his eyes. It was as if he was deconstructed, removed from the person he usually was. There was something soft about him, something that Oikawa never saw when they were at work. Maybe it was the effect of it being his home, or maybe Suga was putting up a front for his sake. Either way, the man he saw before him tugged at something in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Another glass?” he asked, raising his own empty one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga lifted his glass, still full with the amber liquid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More for me then,” he said as he poured.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two glasses in, and Oikawa was nursing his third. Suga had filled his glass again at some point, he must have. He couldn’t still be nursing his first one, could he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had spent the better part of an hour talking about volleyball, telling each other about their different experiences, the good times and the bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t!” Suga was leaning forward, cigarette and whiskey glass in one hand, his chin propped up on the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I swear. Iwaizumi threw me with a water bottle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft. You probably deserved it though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mean, Sugawara-senpai!” he pouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shoe fitting and all that,” Sugawara raised his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa huffed and leaned back against the couch, his fingers playing with the rim of his glass. Taking what was probably too big a sip, he decided to ask Suga something he had been wanting to since the day they met. Suga must have read his mind though, because before he had the chance to ask, the man spoke up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oikawa-san, please drop the senpai. We’re drinking together, no need to be so formal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa tried his best not to look elated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you drop the -san with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga took a drag from his cigarette, and blew out the smoke in a long stream before looking at him, face hazy through the cloud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then, Oikawa.” His voice was low and sultry-sounding to Oikawa’s inebriated ears. If Oikawa blushed, Suga didn’t see it, as he had immediately busied himself with pouring another glass of whiskey.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa was amusing. Drunk Oikawa, now that was just adorable. Suga did not know what it was that was causing Oikawa to compulsively pour himself another drink, but he knew that as soon as the man finished the glass he was currently sipping at, he would have to step in and give him tea. Otherwise the night would not end pretty. Not a fan of drinking himself, he had mastered the art of looking like he was drinking, all the while never taking a sip. It had come in handy many times during company dinners and events he was obligated to attend. Oikawa was definitely not aware enough to notice anymore. As much as he would be loath to admit it, the cocky brown-haired man had creeped his way into Suga’s heart. The way he had spoken about volleyball, the way his focus had never wavered when Suga was telling a story. How he laughed, unbridled by worry. The flush in his cheeks, how he ducked his head when he was embarrassed. All these things made Suga regret that he had ever met him. Oikawa, smiling in his living room, limbs spread across his couch—this was an image like one he hadn’t seen in a long time. Something pure, something untarnished. It could have been anyone, Suga told himself. It was just the image of someone so unbothered by the cares of this world that made him want to shelter Oikawa from everything that he knew he would have to tell him eventually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suga-chan,” Oikawa sing-songed from the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smiling at the honorific he knew was purely because of his drunken state, Suga pushed his worries from his mind for the moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not, nicotine?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few pestering questions, Suga had finally told Oikawa what it was that he was smoking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s a full spectrum CBD cigarette. I used to smoke normal cigarettes, but had to give it up because of health reasons,” he played with an unlit one between his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa eyed him with as much force as he could manage, hands now clasped around a herbal tea that Suga had made him before he could reach for the bottle a sixth time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Same health reasons that made you quit volleyball?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga hummed dismissively. “Topic for another time, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suga,” Oikawa complained, “you always say that. You never tell me anything,” he said with a pout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Later, Oikawa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise?” a question asked with such earnest, Suga couldn’t refuse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I refuse to believe it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I lie about this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga had, after being picked up from his perch on the chair, been relocated to the couch. Upon relocation, Oikawa had placed his legs into Suga’s lap and reclined his head against the armrest. Suga didn’t mind it. The reason did not matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do not play the ukulele,” he said incredulously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa gave an exaggerated sigh. “I do. Very well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, prove it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa lifted his head. “Fine. I will. Next time we do this, I will play you a song.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe if you tell me how it happened, then I’ll believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa dropped his head back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do both. Story and proof.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Story then,” Suga demanded, “Gimme.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. It all started when I had to go for my knee surgery in university-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, wait,” Suga was gasping for laughter. The combination of Oikawa’s exposed neck being all he could see, with Oikawa’s hands gesturing wildly as he spoke and the weird announcer voice he had started using, broke Suga.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa lifted his head, a drunken smirk on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This-,” Suga gasped for breath- “is better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa waited for Suga to stop laughing before he continued with his story.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So. Hospital, me. I had to stay there for a while, because I had to make sure I was properly rested and blah blah. Barring that, when I got home I was basically placed under house arrest by coach so that I could make a full recovery for this bad boy.” Oikawa slapped his knee and shot a wink at Suga that almost made him choke on his tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Oikawa continued, “Makki came in to visit me in the hospital, and as a joke, he gave me a ukulele, telling me that I might as well do something useful. So I learnt it.” Oikawa sipped at his tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga stared in disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You learnt how to play a musical instrument to spite your friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been told that before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga ignored him and took a sip of his tea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There had been a lull in the conversation, the two of them just sitting in silence. When a few minutes had passed without a snarky remark from Oikawa, Suga looked over at him. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with a steady breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you fell asleep, you big idiot,” Suga whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Oikawa for a few more seconds. Tousled hair and ruffled shirt, the body that had been so rowdy thirty minutes before was now so limp and vulnerable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it wasn’t like I was about to let you go home in your state anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga slowly untangled his legs from Oikawa’s, the loss of their warmth noticeable. He tiptoed away, grabbed a blanket from a closet and threw it over Oikawa’s sleeping form. Suga froze when he heard a small whimper from Oikawa, but when he glanced over his shoulder, the man was still fast asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suga smiled. “Goodnight, Oikawa.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oikawa had brought a new warmth to his home that he had almost forgotten existed. It was dangerous, but he didn’t want to think about that now. He just wanted to sleep, thoughts of other things chased far away by the drunken laughter of Oikawa Tooru.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the songs i listened to on repeat while writing the oisuga bit in this chapter, were:</p>
<p>- bon iver (mxmtoon)<br/>- monsoon (hippo campus)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. tensions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The warm feeling of sun against his eyelids, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was what stirred Oikawa from his sleep. These peaceful sensations were slightly marred by the fact that he could feel his second headache in three days creeping at the edge of his senses. He rarely was hungover, even after a night of heavy drinking, but Oikawa was only human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he attempted to be a little less dead to the world. He let his hands drop to his sides with a sigh, and thought back on the night before. It had been nice. Really nice. The conversation had flowed so naturally between them, there had been no awkwardness at all. Sugawara had always felt a little ethereal to him, something to look at and interact with sparingly, but something that somehow still remained untouchable. The night with him had simultaneously dismantled some of the distance, but also strengthened it. He flinched a little at recalling the fact that he had drank so much, but at that moment it had seemed like a great idea to combat what was going on. His decision was fueled by a turning point  about two glasses in, where his heart would do funny things whenever Sugawara laughed. He had said something funny, making Sugawara burst into spontaneous laughter, his eyes crinkling and the sound of his voice echoing around him. Maybe it was the whiskey, but at that moment it had been all that Oikawa could hear, and his chest tightened. He ignored it at first, trying to banish the thoughts to the edges of his mind. But when he found his eyes settling on the curves of Sugawara’s lips when he spoke, Oikawa decided to take the route of more alcohol and overly ridiculous tales. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giving up on the attempt to keep his eyes open for more than a second, Oikawa closed them and tried to recall the rest of the night. At some point, reason gave over to drink and he had made some stupid comment about Suga being too far away and his eyesight being too weak to properly make him out, after which his whiskey-emboldend self had walked over to where Suga was sitting, picked him up and placed him on the couch. Oikawa cringed at the memory. What was he thinking? After that they had spoken and then… wait, when had he left? Suddenly wide awake, Oikawa shot up from where he was lying and groaned as he took in his surroundings. No way had he fallen asleep on Sugawara’s couch. This couldn’t be happening, maybe he was still dreaming and he did not make a massive fool of himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of Sugawara’s voice, and the sight of the man entering the living room, carrying two cups of coffee in his hands, quickly got rid of any hope Oikawa had that the position he currently found himself in was a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somebody please kill me because I would make a great addition to the Darwin awards right about now,” Oikawa groaned. There was no point in hiding his embarrassment, he was too disorientated to try and cool himself out of the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara gave a chuckle and walked into the room, handing one of the cups to Oikawa, who accepted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Oikawa,” Sugawara sat down and took a drink from his cup, “I was prepared to have you stay over even before we started drinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought that you’d naturally get at least a little drunk, and I don’t like the idea of you navigating your drunk self back home in the middle of a winter night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Oikawa still felt embarrassed, but decided to drown his feelings in coffee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence that followed the interaction was a comfortable one and before he could help himself, Oikawa found himself looking at Sugawara. He was dressed in simple grey shorts and a white t-shirt at least two sizes too big. The way it was hanging off the lean man’s shoulder made Oikawa very conscious of him all of a sudden. He had also noticed a familiar bracelet, the one he had given him, clasped around Sugawara’s wrist. All of these things combined were frankly a bit much for his still-sleepy brain, and he desperately tried to come up with something to think about that was not his coworker. In this process, he realised something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, what time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About 9:30, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you wake me up, we’re late for work!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he tried to start getting up in a moment of self-consciousness at the realisation of the full-extent of what his night of drinking had led to, Sugawara waved with his hand for him to sit down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need,” he said as he continued drinking the contents of his cup at a leisurely pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh that had no frustration behind it, Sugawara shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I let you sleep in, I bring you coffee, I even stay in my pajamas, all in an attempt to make you feel at ease, but somehow you’re anxious,” he tutted, “I told you to calm down, Oikawa,” he said in a stern voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa simmered down, but he was definitely not feeling any sort of comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well,” he replied, “those are the things that are weirding me out the most right now, so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara cocked an eyebrow. “You’d rather I chase you out and treat you with cold disregard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t speak so formally this early in the morning please, I beg,” Oikawa raised his hands in surrender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we do need to go to work today, don’t we?” he inquired further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara nodded. “The reason I let you sleep in is because we won’t be going to the office today,” he gave a devilish grin, “We are going to go conduct an interview.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa blinked his eyes rapidly. “We are going to do a what now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the whole time that he had been working with Sugwara, they had not once gone to interview people for any sort of information. Of course, he would not know if Sugawara had been doing so without him knowing, but the point still stood, it was weird. Who were they going to interview? About what? And why was Sugawara asking him to go along?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I trust you remember Washijō Tanji-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously,” Oikawa interrupted indignantly. How could he not, when he had put so much time into scouring the internet for information on the man</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” Sugawara continued, “I set up an interview with him. We need to be there at eleven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa shot Sugawara a withering gaze. “I just woke up and I do not have a change of clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, you pull off the dishevelled, but handsome, photographer look with no problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa sighed. “Fine, fine. I do need to get my stuff though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara hummed in affirmation, folding his legs out from under him and getting up off his chair. “That shouldn’t take too long. Give me a second to get dressed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again, Oikawa was left alone with his thoughts, left to analyze every part of the interaction that had just taken place between them. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but there was a certain closeness from Sugawara that he had not felt before. He had always bantered with Sugawara, after their first day of working together, he had decided there was no way he was keeping a stiff work-relationship with someone his own age. So, he tested the waters by teasing, or making odd remarks. Much to his surprise, Sugawara reciprocated. This is what led to their relationship being quite comfortable during the course of the last two and a half weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This morning however, there was definitely something different. Maybe the previous night had caused Sugawara to relax his guard? Or maybe he had just made such a massive fool of himself that Sugawara no longer cared how he acted around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa sighed and stretched his arms out over his head. Whatever it was, what was done was done and waking up in Sugawara’s flat was not a bad consequence for those actions. However misguided they might have been in the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood up and walked over to the large window. Looking out of it, he got the same feeling he did when standing in Sugawara’s office. It was like he could see the whole of Tokyo, stretched out before him. The vibe was different here, though.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>With the window facing the rising sun, light streamed into the living room. It brought such warmth and comfort from the cold he knew lurked outside. He understood now, why Sugawara said he chose his apartment the way he did. Unlike when you looked at the city from an office building, the push and rush of the concrete world seemed less real here. It was quiet, no telltale rush of cars, or city noise. It was the sun, the warmth, the calm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to see the now dressed Sugawara, wrapping a scarf around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready to go?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Oikawa nodded, and they were off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They made two stops, one at Oikawa’s flat to get his photography equipment, and another at the Shimbun’s offices to retrieve that file containing the information that Oikawa had gathered about Washijō. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waiting in the foyer of the Shimbun for Oikawa to come with the file, Suga tapped his foot impatiently. The elevator dinged and out stepped Oikawa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you have it all?” Suga asked as the man drew closer. This interview, even though it was going to be done under the guise of a piece about his gallery opening, was going to be critical in his investigation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa lifted the file. “Absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, we can go then,” Suga turned on his heel and started walking out of the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara,” he felt something pull him back, and when he turned around, Oikawa was grabbing onto his coat. The look on his face was drawn, stern in a way that took Suga by surprise. He looked down at the hand clutching his coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Oikawa released the coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was acting strange. Suga took a few seconds to look at Oikawa, reading the tell-tale signs of his nervousness. The way he was rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, the scuffling of his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” he finally asked. Not that he really needed to. Suga was pretty sure that Oikawa was burning to ask him about Washijō and what it was that they were going to be doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Oikawa straightened himself, and now looked at Suga without hesitation, “Please tell me about what is going on. For real. I did the research on this man. I’ve been trekking the length of the Yokohama docs, taking pictures. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. So,” he took a deep breath, “tell me why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga smiled at him. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on Oikawa’s face told him that the man had not been expecting this particular reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, you’re not joking?” Expectancy lit up Oikawa’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all, you deserve to know,” he gave him a pat on the shoulder, “It’ll have to be on the way though, so come or we will be late.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only when they had boarded the train did Suga start his explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, tell me. Of your research, what do you know about Washijō?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be enlightening me here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga shrugged at him. “It’ll be better for me if you at least have some background knowledge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave him an incredulous look, but complied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a self-made man. Built himself a business based within the tech industry, but eventually he specialised into robotics, drones and artificial intelligence,” he shot a look at Suga, and Suga gave him an encouraging nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the money so far. What can you tell me about his investments and assets?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa tapped his chin. “Well, I know that he has invested a lot of money in the training and upkeep of the Tokyo police force, which I find bizarre.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Why is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it doesn’t make sense, does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga smirked. “Well, he is very outspoken about the protection of the populous, as the papers put it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave him a funny look. “You mean our papers. Anyway,” he continued, “it doesn’t make sense, it just sits weird. He owns shares in shipping companies as well. Hell if I know why. I couldn’t find anything more in that line of inquiry though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga gave an approving nod. Good. Oikawa saw the same things he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He keeps on doing weird things that make no sense though! Like opening an art gallery? What gives?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you Oikawa,” Suga said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “The truth is,” he said in a soft voice, “I suspect him to be at the head of an organisation that is supplying firearms to the people of Tokyo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait-” confusion sounded in Oikawa’s voice- “are you serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately,” Suga opened his eyes to look at Oikawa, “I don’t think you’d have heard about this, but over the past three months, there have been a significant increase in the amount of murders committed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s eyes grew in shock, and Suga gave a wry smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three months ago, there was a homicide. Murders, when committed in this peaceful country of ours, aren’t usually done with a gun. Unless it’s yakuza or related issues, of course. Actually, as you may know, it’s our strict gun laws that keep our crime rates so low. But this homicide,” Suga closed his eyes again, the images of the scene springing to his mind like it so often did, “was committed with a gun. The bullet casings were found on the scene and were identified to be from an American make and model. Not long after, another murder was committed. They were completely unrelated, the two cases. When it happened a third, fourth, fifth time… there was no question. Someone is supplying handguns to ordinary, everyday people. Enabling them to do horrible things,” Suga paused, “And I suspect Washijō Tanji is behind it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa was silent, and Suga did not say anything more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The intercom called out their stop, and they got off the train. Oikawa still had not said anything, and Suga left him to his thoughts. He had to get his head in order for the interview anyway, and spent the brisk walk on the way to Washijō’s building mulling over the questions he had prepared. The key would be trying to slip in questions that were layered, but in a way that would not arouse the geezer’s suspicions. If he was really sitting on top of a gun smuggling business, then the old fox would be a sly man not to be underestimated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only when they approached the towering skyscraper, an impressive building that loomed over them, that Suga’s attention was brought back to his companion alongside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara,” his voice was low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you…” his voice trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had walked up to the front of the building now. People were milling around them, coming and going. Suga reached his hand out to open the door. He was not going to press Oikawa about what was bothering him. If Oikawa was thinking that he was delusional, like Daichi did, he would prefer for it not to end in a screaming match. He didn’t need him to agree with him, exactly. All he needed was for Oikawa to cooperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Sugawara.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga let his hand drop. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the noise of the people around them, Suga heard the breath Oikawa took. “Are you… safe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so absurd and unexpected, Suga almost wanted to laugh. Instead, he pushed open the door in front of him and entered the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What trick was Oikawa trying to pull, asking that kind of question? Either he was stupid, or completely dillusional. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned around, stopping the advancing Oikawa right in his tracks. He took a few steps closer, until they were barely a foot apart, and pressed his index finger to Oikawa’s chest. A thousand retributional sentences ran through his mind, but when he went to open his mouth, he looked straight into Oikawa’s face, and his frustration dissolved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought that Oikawa had asked the question out of a need to feel comforted, or secure. A roundabout way of being cowardly, wanting to know if his own life is in danger. The face he was looking at, however, had none of that in it. It seemed to be concern, pure and true. It hadn’t taken Suga long to realise that Oikawa wore his emotions plainly, not making much of an effort to conceal them. Oikawa had always approached him sincerely, the previous night was more than enough evidence of the fact. Slightly ashamed, Suga took a step back, looking at Oikawa with a defeated smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if everything goes according to plan, then yes. I ought to be completely fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t expect that, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” in a moment, Oikawa’s demeanour shifted, “Well then I guess I’ll just have to play bodyguard. Tell me whenever you plan to run off into shadowy alleyways, so I can be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cockyness had sprung out of nowhere, an obvious attempt to improve the mood, and it was welcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga nodded and hummed an affirmation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave a confident smile. “Let’s ruin this bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep up the optimism, you’ll need that later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave Suga an impish wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga just shook his head. What was he going to do with this man? “I’m going to go to the front desk. Wait here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa nodded and Suga made his way to the receptionist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here are your badges, clip them onto your shirts or jackets, you just need them when moving in the building. It’s company policy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga took the two badges from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just take a seat in our waiting area, Washijō-san will be with you shortly.” She flashed him the most plastic of red-lipped smiles, and Suga took his leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scanned the area to find Oikawa, which did not take him long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said, leave me alone!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Oikawa was in deep conversation, if you could call it that, with someone. It definitely did not look friendly. His wrist was in the firm grip of a man that stood a good ten centimeters taller than him, the strength imbalance glaringly obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man said something Suga could not make out, his face close to Oikawa’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Contrary to the unfamiliar man, Oikawa’s body language was clearly on the offensive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga felt a deep discomfort settle over him. He quickly made his way over and placed a decisive hand on the arm gripping Oikawa’s wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The struggle between the two men immediately stopped. Oikawa’s face flooded with relief and the stranger, apparently realising what they might look like to onlookers, stepped back. He did not, however, let go of Oikawa’s wrist, still gripping onto it tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looked down at him with an intense stare and Suga gave a polite smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello. I am Sugawara Koushi. Please unhand my companion, he clearly does not want you in his presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man kept staring at him. “I need to talk to Oikawa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck you do,” Oikawa hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa, listen to me,” the man spoke to him, but did not stop looking at Suga, and his discomfort grew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have to listen to anything you have to say, Ushiwaka.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Suga observed their interaction, he noticed a badge on the man’s jacket. It was clearly an employee’s badge, and the name read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ushijima Wakatoshi</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ushijima-san,” Suga said firmly, catching his attention, “If you do not let go of my partner, I will notify security. We have an appointment with Washijō-san, I don’t think he would take kindly to his employee harassing guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether it was the tone in which Suga had spoken, or the threat, he did not know, but Ushijima let go of Oikawa. He looked between the two of them, face expressionless and serious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will have to talk to me sometime,” he said to Oikawa. Then he gave Suga a hard stare before walking off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga turned to Oikawa. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked a little shaken, his brow furrowed into a frown, his hand rubbing his wrist. “Yeah…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is he? What did he want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa, attention still elsewhere, did not answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he blinked, “Sorry. He, he’s my ex. I didn’t know he worked here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a development that Suga had not expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He… he asked me about you, and then told me that he needed to discuss something important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s mind was starting to drift away again. Suga looked at him, trying to figure out what made him space out in this way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa,” Suga snapped his fingers, “stay with me here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faraway look in Oikawa’s eyes faded, now focusing on the fingers Suga was holding in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Sugawara. I just- I didn’t think I would be running into him today. I really didn’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The expression on Oikawa’s face was something between sadness and anger. Suga could practically see the wheels in his mind churning. The incident was clearly doing a number on him, and Suga needed to ground him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa,” he softened his voice, but kept it firm, “I need you to focus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t seem to work, Oikawa was looking at him, but he was clearly focused on something else. His hand was still rubbing his wrist, a perpetual motion that he definitely was not aware of. Suga did the only thing he could think of at that moment, and touched Oikawa’s hand. Softly, with just enough hold to stop him rubbing his wrist. Like a static shock, Oikawa's eyes snapped back into focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your head in the game,” he let go of Oikawa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man, looking very dazed, but much more present, simply nodded. Before Suga could wonder for too long about what to say next, a voice spoke up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara-san?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to see a young man, dressed in a sharp suit, with copper-coloured hair cut in an asymmetrical fringe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man smiled. “Shirabu Kenjiro. I’m Washijō-san’s assistant. He will see you now. Follow me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga turned to nod at Oikawa, and then they followed the man into an elevator. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The floor that the elevator doors opened up to, was large. There was a reception desk in front of them, large conference rooms to the side and assistants bustling around. Suga and Oikawa followed Shirabu as he walked to the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let him know we’re here,” he said to the man behind the desk. He nodded, and pressed a button on what Suga took to be an intercom. Shibaru started walking down one of the hallways, and Suga followed suit. He glanced behind him, to take a look at Oikawa. Luckily he seemed to have gotten his focus back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shirabu stood before two large, white double doors. He pushed them open, and announced their arrival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara-san and Oikawa-san from the Shimbun here to see you, sir,” he turned to face Suga, “You may enter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga did as he said, Oikawa following close behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man that stood in front of the desk did not exactly cut an imposing figure. He was short, his back slightly hunched, his hands clasped behind him. There was something about the way he held himself, however. It was the way he glared at Suga from beneath dark, heavy eyebrows. His white hair was slicked back, and nothing about the suit he wore was out of place. Suga knew immediately that he was going to have to be on his guard around him. He hoped Oikawa was keeping it together enough to realise that as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga gave a bow, and next to him Oikawa did the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Washijō-san,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Washijō gave a slight bow of the head. “Likewise, Sugawara-kun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga grit his teeth. The man had already decided that he was small fry, from the moment he had set eyes upon him. He straightened up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for taking the time to see us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, please be seated,” he gestured to two chairs that faced his mahogany desk, and made his way to his own chair behind it. Suga walked over and took his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, Washijō-san,” Oikawa spoke up, “Would it be alright if I took some photos during the interview? Of you, and your office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Washijō gave a small nod. Oikawa thanked him, and started setting up his equipment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I record our interview?” Suga asked, taking out a small tape recorder and placing it on the desk in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he pressed the record button on the device, “If you are ready, we can begin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nod. Washijō did not look disinterested, per say, but he definitely was not holding them in any kind of high esteem. Suga bit back his frustration, plastered on his best interviewer smile, took a breath to steel himself and started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now we get into what we really came here to find out,” Suga had started the interview with the textbook questions, asking about business, key to success, keeping it mundane as to lower any guard that Washijō might have. Now, he was planning on upping the ante, in the marginal ways he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why art? This has never been a part of your repertoire, so why suddenly open an art gallery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Washijō leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “I have always harboured a great appreciation for the arts, especially classical pieces. Not just from Japan but other great nations. So for me to be able to acquire pieces, especially those that have newly been uncovered, or hidden gems from times forgotten, this is a great interest of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. But then, why a gallery? Surely if you were one for restoration and exhibition of pieces, you would want to keep them, so why the decision to have auctions to sell these pieces?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in Washijō’s face twitched. Suga was well aware that this was not a question that had been asked before. He had looked up on the articles concerning Washijō’s new endeavour, and none of them had asked him about this particular aspect. Either they hadn’t deemed it important enough to ask, or it had simply passed them by. It was unconventional, either way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I not share my findings with those who love art the way I do?” his transition was smooth, nothing remained of the slight reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you believe art should be shared, not hoarded?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” the corners of the old man’s mouth lifted slightly and something about the action made Suga’s hairs stand on end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a click, and a flash as Oikawa took a photo. Suga continued. Taking a glance into the folder, he found what he was looking for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I noticed that you do not have many partners that you do business with in Japan. Apparently the art dealer you have been in contact with is American?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Washijō’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “You are talking about my contact in the art world?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The research Oikawa had done was thorough. Little was known about the art endeavour that Washijō was allegedly so passionate about, but he had named a consultant of sorts once. The man was Nekomata Yasufumi. He was originally from Japan, but had made his own millions in America. At face value, the two men seemed to not have any reason to be affiliated, but Oikawa had found out that they had attended the same high school. There was no record other than that about any dealings they had made, but then out of nowhere, Nekomata had started voicing his own interest in art and historical restoration, and a few years later Washijō was opening a gallery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, as you may know, he is not American-born. His work in America, however, has given him insights that are highly valuable to me.” Washijō spoke with an air of dismissiveness, but Suga noticed how the man shifted in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He was no detective, but he had sat in on his fair share of interrogations, and had learnt that when someone who had sat still during most of the interrogation, shifted themselves when answering a question that the interrogator had deemed as probing beforehand and were made uncomfortable by it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see, and is his Japanese nationality the reason for your work together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Washijō eyed him with a look that told Suga his questions were starting to veer too far off what the norm was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga mentally punched himself for the fact that he fell for the yes/no question trap. He would have to make up for it, he needed to ask something that would catch the magnate off guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does your history with Nekomata-san have any influence in this work-relationship? Not much is known about it, but I suppose old school friends stay in contact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he asked the question, he regretted it. If Washijo’s suspicions had been aroused before, they were now sky high. He had revealed knowledge not readily available with a simple internet search, and that would be enough for the old businessman to build up his guard again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We each have… vested interests in the other’s line of work,” he looked at Suga, “And it’s always good to support an old friend.” He tapped his fingers on his desk, his eyes settling into a glare, directed at Suga.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way out of it now, so Suga pressed on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he supply you with the art you will be showcasing? What type of art does he specialise in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this question, a smile that chilled Suga to the bone spread over Washijō’s face. It seemed so out of place, so completely sinister. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Only the best pieces. I am sure they will blow away the spectators.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light flashed, startling Suga.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to the source.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa, naturally. His face was hidden from Washijō, behind the camera, but from where Suga was sitting, he saw the muscles of Oikawa’s jaw clench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga turned back to Washijō. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And… you? Since there is a trading relationship between you, I assume you supply him with goods?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, indeed. Well, the kind of art,” he said the word with a relish, “I supply, offers slightly more entertainment value to the white collar society of America.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will we be able to see this… art?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, Sugawara-kun,” Washijō was completely at ease again, “You will have to come to my auctions to see that. Unfortunately, the clientele is specific, so no publicity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga smiled at him stiffly. “Naturally. High society operates the way it operates. A shame we won’t be able to attend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Washijō did not answer, just shrugged and looked at Suga.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been toyed with, he knew it. His questions hadn’t been enough to arouse any concrete reason to suspect him, although the question about Nekomata was certainly a slip-up. It had been enough for Washijō however, and Suga knew that asking anything else related to the art gallery and how it would operate was dangerous ground. Soldiering through his frustration, he switched to the mundane questions, when the gallery would open, where it was located, why the specific area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through it all, the only thing he could think of was how Washijō was taunting him. Everything, from how the man sat, to his patronising way of addressing Suga. It ate at him. Rationally, he knew that he was probably over-dramatising it in his own mind, but Washijō had successfully thwarted him. Perhaps they both knew it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was with a heavy, angry disappointment that Suga stood up to leave. Oikawa packed up his equipment, and Washijō came from behind the desk to greet them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as they were about to take their leave, Washijō spoke up one last time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara-kun,” he held out a card, “I always enjoy when the younger generation shows such a keen interest in the finer things in life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga took the card. It displayed the time, date and venue of the art gallery’s opening night in golden calligraphy kanji. He looked at Washijō. The man nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would appreciate it if you and your,” he gave Oikawa a cursory glance, as if seeing him for the first time, “associate, could join us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga gave him an icy smile. “Certainly, Washijō-san. It would be our honor.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter took me forever to write. i was struggling for so long with it rip. i hope you enjoyed it though!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. animosity makes the heart grow colder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>to everyone who takes the time to leave kudos or a comment, all my love. from the bottom of my heart, all my love and thanks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Oikawa’s relationship with Ushijima had been short-lived, rife with arguments, and had ended with both of them wondering why they had thought the tension between them meant attraction. How they had lasted for six months, Oikawa could never quite figure out. He attributed it to the fact that he was rarely in Tokyo enough during the course of their relationship to actually spend a significant amount of time with Ushijima. Volleyball had taken over both of their lives, and being in different teams meant that they did not exactly see each other often. Initially, Oikawa had thought it was the perfect set up. Someone who had the same passion for volleyball that he did, and who understood the pull of the sport in the same way he did. Surely this was a coupling that would work. If volleyball was foremost in both their lives, it could not come between them. Turns out, it would not be volleyball to drive a wedge between them. It certainly kept them apart, though, but it was not the reason they were a match made in hell. When their schedules did align and they did spend time together, it was either have sex, argue, or sit around in silence until the tension became too much and they had sex again. It did not take a genius to figure out they were basically glorified sex buddies but with the added element of generally not being able to stand each other. After they seperated, Oikawa decided if he never saw Ushijima again it would be too soon, and Ushijima was too unemotional for anything to pop up after. Until today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he had ignored the call from Ushijima those weeks ago, after the initial escapade he had gone on with Sugawara, he had done so under the assumption that it was a miss-dial, or something that wouldn’t be followed up on. He had no reason to believe otherwise, until today. The words that had been thrown between them had left him frustrated and confused. With about a hundred different questions racing through his mind, he had been forced to return his concentration to the interview with Washijō. He thought that if he just focused on taking pictures well, and setting the stage for Sugawara to ask the right questions, they would be able to get some information that they could use. However, with how the interview went, that was not the case at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had left Washijō’s office and Oikawa felt like he could punch a hole in a wall. From the start, Washijō had categorised them as lesser-than, and as the interview progressed, he was obviously toying with Sugawara. Luckily, Sugawara was a cool-headed man, but as for himself? He was angry. Frustrated. The situation with Ushijima just served to heighten his confusion. Today really was too much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa, if you clench your jaw any harder, you might shatter your teeth,” Sugawara’s voice spoke up from next to him. Caught by surprise, Oikawa looked down and touched his jaw, feeling the clenched muscle. He unclenched his jaw, forcing himself to slowly let the tension go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara smiled at him. “That’s better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the hell can you be so calm?” Oikawa asked, “He wasn’t even taking you seriously! And in the end…” he exhaled, the air whistling over his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga smiled at the ground, his calm demeanour Oikawa was so sure was going to shatter in the office, seemingly unshakable now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t a total loss. If anything, our suspicions are confirmed. The only thing we’re lacking is solid evidence,” he looked up at Oikawa and a mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as he lifted something in the air. It was the invitation to the opening gala. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s eyes widened in realisation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do mean.” Suga placed the card back in his coat pocket. “He might as well have given us the ticket to the evidence we need to get the police and the law on our side.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa mulled over Suga’s words in his head. He was right. Even though by most standards, they had their asses handed to them in the interview, they had still been given an in that they wouldn’t have had otherwise. His joy was short-lived, however, as the obvious problems surfaced rather quickly. Sugawara was one step ahead of him, speaking up before he could air his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are obviously things to be aware of. It’s not like the golden keys to this case will be handed to us on a silver platter, ripe for the taking without any consequence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even a bronze one. It could all be a trap, especially if he knows who you are,” Oikawa voiced the worry that had first sprung to his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Sugawara hummed in affirmation, “I try to keep my name out of high-profile cases that I am involved in, but it slips through the cracks, and people often know who I am. Which makes trying to do things discreetly a little difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So modest,” Oikawa teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always,” Sugawara replied, not missing a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean they know what you look like, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not necessarily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel stupid, this isn’t a detective film,” Oikawa kicked at a loose rock on the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara’s light chuckle caught him off guard. “No, it isn’t, but some tropes can be accurate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence settled between them naturally. Sugawara didn’t make any attempts to share his thoughts with Oikawa, but somehow Oikawa knew that Sugawara would tell him what he was thinking eventually. Or at least he hoped that the need for keeping things in the dark had dissipated after what had transpired. Oikawa decided to let it be, tried his best to belief that Sugawara would tell him what he needed to know when the time was right for him to know it. Oikawa had the distinct feeling that Suga was the type of person to figure out all the flaws in his own plan before sharing it with others for scrutiny. That was how he left Suga to his thoughts, as the two of them walked to the train station, their feet hitting asphalt, cold wind in their faces, navigating the occasional jostles from the throngs of people moving around them. Oikawa spared a glance at Sugawara again. The man was still deep in his own mind, chin buried in his scarf, walking forward as if the masses around him weren’t there at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their silence continued for the rest of the trek back to the Shimbun. They made their way up the building. It was busy, as it always was. Paper pushers ran around with nervous faces, journalists sat behind computers, typing away. The noises followed them, clacking keyboards, chattering of people at the coffee bar, the smell of cigarettes that clung to so many of the employee’s permeated the air. All of this faded into the background as soon as the two men settled into Sugawara’s office. Sugawara immediately sat behind his desk and busied himself without giving Oikawa any specific instructions on what to do. Since it became apparent Sugawara would not be sharing his sentiments now either, Oikawa turned his attention to his laptop, pushed away the questions still rattling around in his brain, and forced himself to get through the drudgery of answering emails and sorting through the photos he had taken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s admin had not taken long at all, and he found himself saddled with the task of sorting through and editing the photos he had taken that day. What he initially thought would be a routine review and edit project that usually came to him more naturally than breathing, proved to be a struggle. Every time he saw Washijō’s face on the screen, he had to bite back a barrage of mental insults. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I never knew I could be so petty towards a photograph.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Editing photos was definitely always a form of drudgery to an extent, but these particular photos made it difficult in a way he did not expect. Washijō elicited a visceral response of disgust in a petty way he had not felt since facing volleyball rivals in highschool. In short, his motivation to stare at the face of a malicious-looking old man, was non-existent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While he worked away at his laptop, Oikawa was vaguely aware of Sugawara. The man had, after making a bee-line for his desk when they entered, immediately pulled out files and papers, as well as multiple different pens before he dove into his work with earnest. Since then, Sugawara had not once looked up to do as much as sigh. Oikawa could hear the scritches of the pen, the rustling of the paper, the tell-tale whispers that meant Suga was busy trying to piece information together. Yet another mannerism Oikawa had gotten used to far quicker than he had thought he would. He removed his eyes from the screen and glanced at Sugawara. Sure enough, he was busy mumbling something to himself, completely lost to the rest of the world. His eyes were focused on the paper in front of him, pen frantically moving over it as it circled one thing, then moved to cross out another.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He has beautiful hands. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oikawa thought, resting his gaze on the way Suga’s fingers gripped his pen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa shook his head when he realised he was staring, and quickly returned his attention to his laptop screen. When he was confronted once again by the self-satisfied face of Washijō, he wished he hadn’t. Oikawa stretched himself out in his chair with a sigh, and decided instead to run over what Sugawara had told him in the train.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The initial shock of finding out that all of the seemingly unconnected errands he was running for Sugawara were tied to the business of gun smuggling had passed, but at the same time, the reality of what they were facing had sunk deep into Oikawa’s brain. Reading about stories in the news, watching footage as it was broadcast on television, shaking your head and saying: “What has the world come to?”, before moving on with your life, was something completely different than being caught up in the middle of it all. When he thought about it, what else had he expected? That working with Sugawara would be reporting on the new park that opened, or the highs and lows of the stock market? He knew what kinds of things Sugawara usually covered, but somehow in-between assignments and boat picture-taking, reality had taken a backseat. In truth, he had not expected anything at all, and his ignorance had come back to haunt him. Mentally, Oikawa wanted to kick himself. People almost never succeeded in pulling a blindfold over his eyes. In fact, he was the one doing the blindfolding most of the time. But Sugawara had bested him. Granted, Oikawa’s guard was down. He had spent way more time worrying about getting into Sugawara’s good books than about what Sugawara had him working on. If he had been more attentive, would he have picked up on anything? As Oikawa thought back on all the interactions they had, all the things he had been told, what he had not been told, he genuinely could not tell. Maybe he would not have known exactly what was going on, he he would definitely not have been so blinded by it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You really are an idiot. ‘I’m going to charm him.’ What a joke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, there was no point in being angry about it now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa sat up and clicked through the photos he had taken for the umpteenth time. A few clicks later, and he found the photo he was looking for. He had taken it out of pure frustration, right after Sugawara’s question about art being hoarded. He had wanted to do something to shift the tense power play, even if it was just with a camera flash. The way Washijō had answered, the look on his face, the grin that spoke of his condecendance... all of it. All of Oikawa’s buttons had been pushed, and he felt the annoyance of what had happened settle in his jaw again as he clenched it involuntarily. He zoomed in on the photo and stared at it intently. There was something in Washijō’s eyes, the pull of his mouth, his entire demeanour. It was unsettling. It had bothered Oikawa during the interview, but he was unable to place it. But now, as he saw the face captured in stasis, he could finally pinpoint what it was. Washijō, sat in the centre of the frame, looked like a predator. Like a wolf, an animal ready to lunge at their victim, ready to tear them apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you safe?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He had asked Sugawara this before the interview, because it was the first thing he had thought about. Even if this was what Sugawara’s life was made of, it did not make him immune to the dangers that it posed. No one, not even supernatural detectives or seasoned cops, were ever absolutely safe. He actually was not quite sure why he had asked. It was not because Daichi had asked him to, although that was how he tried to reason it out at first. Yes, Daichi had asked Oikawa to look out for Sugawara, but he was not exactly Sugawara’s keeper. In the end, he ignored it and ascribed it to be a twisted sense of duty. Partly because of Daichi, and partly because Sugawara certainly did not look like the type of person who had dealt with mobsters and extremists. This argument was invalid though, because Sugawara’s illustrious reputation preceded him, so really Oikawa had no feet to stand on. Or at least, that is what he thought. The confrontation that he had with Ushijima in the lobby of Washijō’s offices completely changed that. The fact that Ushijima had-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s train of thought was cut off by the sound of Sugawara’s phone. It rang loudly, shattering the individual concentration of both men in the office. Oikawa’s head swiveled to look at Sugawara, who was now holding his phone in his hands. Sugawara stared at the screen with a mixture of surprise and apprehension on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you going to answer?” Oikawa asked, after the phone had rung twice with Sugawara still staring at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Daichi,” Sugawara said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa immediately understood. The whole ordeal where Daichi had essentially rejected Sugawara was still fresh in his mind. Sugawara obviously did not know how Daichi had approached Oikawa, how Daichi had implored Oikawa to look after his friend. From what Oikawa could figure, Sugawara’s hesitation was probably built on pride and the feeling of betrayal. Yet, Oikawa knew that Sugawara did want to speak to Daichi. As capable as Sugawara was, he needed Daichi on his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then answer it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sugawara glanced at Oikawa in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know we need him, Sugawara,” Oikawa said earnestly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You know you need him, actually. I’m just the bystander to the chaos of your realities.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, the knowledge of that truth struck a small nerve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone rang once more, and Sugawara answered the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa let out a sigh of relief and forced himself to turn his focus back to his work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suga tapped on the page in front of him with his pen, the conversation he had on the phone with Daichi vying desperately for his attention. He had tried to pull himself to his work after the call, but despite his best efforts, it had stuck in his mind for the last few hours. Contrary to Suga’s initial expectations, Daichi hadn’t sounded angry. In fact, he sounded relieved when Suga had picked up the phone. There had been no apology, or awkward stumbling around words, but then again, that was never Daichi. Cool, calm, collected, dependable. That was the Daichi everyone knew and loved. Sugawara’s childhood friend, ever the mature one, the one who Suga could count on in any circumstance. Of course, this was why his passionate reaction to Suga suggesting Washijō’s ties to the yakuza had caught him so off guard. Without fail, no matter how wild or far-fetched his theories, Daichi had always listened to him, heard him out, stood at the forefront and made the level-headed decisions whenever Suga had wanted to walk into a situation with figurative guns blazing. All these things had made Daichi’s immediate shut-down of Suga sting like a betrayal, and Suga had resolved that he would not swallow his pride, and would not apologise. Maybe it was a bit childish, but Suga had no intention of backing off from the Washijō case, and going to Daichi for forgiveness was not going to produce the desired effect from his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did seem like the apology would be coming from Daichi, but he had no idea what Daichi’s real intentions were. The call was short and to the point, a cordial invitation to dinner at Daichi’s home, accompanied with the claim that Iwaizumi would be out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga accepted, of course he did. Daichi was earnest, and he did want, no, he needed Daichi's help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara. Sugawara.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga’s grip on his pen tightened. He felt nervous, and could not quite place why that was. It was just Daichi, it was not like they had never fought before. They had to make up in the past a few times. Surely-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suga-chan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voice that had been intruding on his thoughts finally broke through, and Suga’s head whipped up. It was Oikawa. He was sitting in front of Suga’s desk, his elbows rested on top of it, chin supported in his hands. The glint in Oikawa’s eyes was that of a boyish impudence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took you long enough,” he grinned, as soon as he saw that his words had succeeded in grasping Suga’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just because I told you to drop one honorific, doesn’t mean you get to add one,” Suga promptly rapped Oikawa on the head with his pen and quickly gathered himself to recover from the interruption.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was completely zoned out. That’s a bit embarrassing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you desperately need my attention?” He asked Oikawa, who was now rubbing his head with an exaggerated expression of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s quitting time. I’m quitting,” Oikawa deadpanned, and then proceeded to place his forehead on the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga raised an eyebrow. “You’re quitting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely,” came the muffled voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa had slumped himself on the desk by this point, practically stretched out across it. The sight was comical, and Suga felt the tension inside him melt ever-so-slightly. Oikawa tended to keep a facade of untouchable cool around him, but Suga guessed that Oikawa probably decided to drop the act a bit after the previous night’s events. No point in trying to keep up an act when the person you were presenting it to had caught on to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though Oikawa had gone from aloof to a tad too familiar with him, Suga realised he didn’t mind. He would rather his co-worker be comfortable and relaxed, than someone who was constantly trying to impress him. Even if Oikawa would never admit it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed away the weird urge to ruffle Oikawa’s hair, and decided to humor Oikawa for a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d really leave me alone like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a bit of a pause, and then Oikawa’s muffled voice answered, “If it means I don’t need to talk to creepy and condescending old men, or take photos of boats anymore, then yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh poor me,” Suga sighed dramatically, “I’ll never get to hear the ukulele performance I was so looking forward to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s body stiffened and he lifted his head up, hair falling all over his eyes. Suga suppressed his grin, “I guess you really don’t know how to play. I knew it was all talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An array of expressions flashed across Oikawa’s face. He clearly did not expect the conversation to go in this particular direction at all, and the way his ears were turning a bright shade of pink was a particularly satisfying reaction to watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can play,” Oikawa said lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” Suga smiled at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want to have a drink again, I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suga had not planned on spending another night drinking with Oikawa any time soon. His instincts had told him to keep Oikawa at arms length, not just for his safety, but because Suga did not feel like becoming particularly attached to Oikawa. He liked him well enough, but being overly-concerned for Oikawa’s well-being could end up being a hindrance to effectiveness. If they were ever in a dangerous situation, being worried for someone else’s life was the last thing he needed to be anxious about. Not that he would have a complete disregard for Oikawa’s life, but it would be easier to trust him to handle things without the added burden of emotional attachment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, there was something about Oikawa’s facial expression that made Suga waver. There was something in it that seemed oddly like hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hope for what? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wondered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was just truthful earnestness in wanting to spend time with Suga, which was something that Suga had not experienced from someone else in a while. It was not something that Suga had allowed other people to get close enough to do, actually. But it was refreshing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he said, and meant it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa’s face lit up with an expression that seemed to wash some of the fatigue from his face. It was not there for long before it was replaced with a pensive look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did Daichi say?” the question was oddly tentative, and came as a bit of a surprise to Suga. Since when did Oikawa care about his relationship with Daichi? Then again, he had asked a lot about the man during their working hours. He had also spent a good deal of time combing through the reports that Suga had made him read, reports in which Daichi’s name was bound to pop up often, as per the nature of their working relationship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, he just wanted to talk things over. As you probably remember, things didn’t end so well between us a few weeks ago,” Suga said dismissively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Oikawa didn’t try to find out anything else, and instead stood up from his seat, taking his chair back to his desk. “I hope you guys sort it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The puppy-dog eyes and facial expressions from just a few moments ago were gone without a trace, what replaced them was the face of a tired man. Suga recalled what had happened throughout the day, and he guessed that what had happened must have taken a bigger toll on Oikawa than he had noticed at first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rest well, Oikawa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa nodded and ran his hands through his hair, pushing away the strands that had fallen into his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga felt the nagging feeling he had earlier, returning. If a day like this was draining on Oikawa, he was completely unprepared for the things that were bound to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I should have more trust in him, but I still don’t know if he can do it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga looked at Oikawa, who had pulled on his jacket, and was now in the process of slinging his bags over his shoulders. Sure, he was a man that Suga believed to be loyal to a fault, but would he be able to shoulder the pressure, when push came to shove?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be off then, Sugawara,” Oikawa said as he opened the office door a few minutes later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you, Oikawa,” Suga replied, and watched the figure of Oikawa as he made his way through the maze of offices to the door that led out into the hallway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared out in front of him long after Oikawa had disappeared from view, his eyes shifting out of focus, the world blurring before them. For a moment, he allowed his mind to be completely blank, and then he turned his attention back to the page in front of him.  Would there be any chance of nailing Washijo within the next few weeks? Or would they be chasing him for months to come? Would he run, or would there be confrontation? Suga could not provide any of the answers to his own questions. All he knew is that the case needed to be unraveled before any more harm could be done. He looked at the mind map of names and corporations that he had drawn on the pages in front of him, until the kanji became nothing more than illegible symbols. The illegible symbols faded into formless blobs of ink, until the ink started to swim. The swimming ink became memories. Memories of bodies lying lifeless in apartment buildings, in pools of their own stale, ink-black blood. The stench of death permeating it all. Black-bloodied footprints, black-clad police officers, black-bloodied walls with handprints. Faces contorted with a lasting horror, faces not contorted at all. Bodies blackened, too-riddled with holes for them to be recognisable. Blood on their floors, blood in their hair, blood and it’s stench in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> nostrils. Retching, and the smell of asphalt. Suga recoiled mentally. The images that had been following him for so many years, why did they have to come back? Why did they have to follow him, and why here? He didn’t think he’d ever have to deal with something like that in his life again, not in this country. Turns out he was caught up in it again, in the middle again. All it took was one body. One bloodied-body, and they came. They still came, drowning foolish thoughts of stopping murder before it happened, drowing it in the ink-black blood. Drowning him, if he was not careful. Again. Helpless again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked rapidly as he tried to shake himself from the horrors of his mind. This wasn’t then. He still had a chance. He could make it stop. This was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it though?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Am I sure?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He had better leads. Sort of. Less people were dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But there could be more. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suga rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. There could be. Which is why there won’t be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his laptop closer, and started to work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The trip home was uneventful. Oikawa had taken his usual train, gotten off at his usual stop, and walked the rest of the way to his apartment. As he traversed the busy streets, he wrapped his coat tighter around him, desperately hoping for spring to come quickly. Facing creepy old men who may, or may not, be a part of a gun trafficking mafia business, was tiring enough in the freezing winter, it might as well be sakura season so that there could be some light in his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He entered his apartment block, and opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. Even though the apartment building was nice, the elevator was notoriously dodgy. The floor creaked, and the whole contraption made a disconcerting whirring sound when it moved. Oikawa had never been fond of elevators anyway, they freaked him out, even if he would never admit it, so he avoided it. The cost of this decision was a five-story trek up the stairs, but he had stopped minding it a long while ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he made his way up, his mind naturally wandered to Sugawara. He truly hoped that Sugawara would be able to sort everything out with Daichi. Having Daichi on their side would be beneficial, and now Oikawa would not have to worry about playing emotional middle man. Besides, legal help could never go awry. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In fact, don’t I also have a contact in the legal area?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa took out his phone, and with cold fingers pushed the right buttons until he was calling Iwaizumi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone rang twice, before there was a voice on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Iwa-chan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still need to get used to that nickname,” something akin to Iwaizumi’s version of a chuckle sounded over the line, “but you never call. Is something biting you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is anything wrong?” .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly, I was just wondering if you had spoken to Daichi about any of the things that happened between him and Sugawara.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line was silent for a while, before Iwaizumi spoke again. “Well, some. But not a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Oikawa slowly mounted the last flight of stairs. Why were stairways always so cold?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted your opinion, I guess. Your professional one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iwaizumi sighed. “Well, I can’t offer you a lot of help. Maybe if you and Suga-san came over together and laid your cards on the table?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the thing,” Oikawa took his keys out as he walked down the hall to get to his apartment, “I don’t even know what half of the cards look like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tough hand,” Iwaizumi remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well, I’m not even sure what kind of game-” Oikawa was cut off by the sight that waited for him at his front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi’s voice came from very far away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call you back,” Oikawa’s tone was colder than the weather outside as he ended the call, his eyes never leaving the face of the person who sat in front of him, back against the door to his apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa stalked the last few paces to his front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa, please let me explain,” Ushijima held his arms up in a gesture of surrender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa, however, was seeing red. When he reached Ushijima, Oikawa grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” he pulled the man so lose their faces almost touched, “the fuck are you doing here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood in a stalemate, Oikawa practically breathing fire with the memory of the morning still fresh in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima was strangely calm, despite being yanked off his feet by a man who, by all appearances, should not be able to do so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me Oikawa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have to listen to you,” Oikawa spat at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should though,” Ushijima said, unphased. Any traces of his emotional outburst from the office lobby were gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh so now you’re civil?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Oikawa. I just needed to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you thought yanking my arm off and threatening me to tell you where Sugawara Koushi was, was the way to instigate conversation?” Oikawa scoffed in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima’s face hardened for a moment. “Momentary lapse in judgement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa laughed, the sound harsh and sarcastic. “You’re telling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did try to talk to you beforehand, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called you three weeks ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa was stunned, to say the least. “You call, trying to contact me with no prior warning or possible reason, and expect me to pick up? Your social skills are worse than I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do need to talk to you, Oikawa. About Sugawara-san,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa looked at Ushijima for a few seconds, and let go of his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Oikawa was tired. He didn’t want to do this. He had enough things to keep him occupied. ‘Argument with ex,’ was not one of those things that he’d willingly spend brainpower on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa, I just want to make sure you’re safe. Things happened at work. I found out a lot of stuff that I never knew. I was going to tell you, because you work with the newspaper, but you ignored me. So I left it. But then, today you showed up at Washijo’s and with Sugawara-san no less-” Ushijima was speaking more than Oikawa had ever heard him speak in one go, but that didn’t mean he wanted to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that have to do with anything?” Oikawa interjected-, “Keep your hands off him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa had reached the end of his line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cold, tired, and done,” he tried shoving Ushijima away from the door, “get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima, however, didn't budge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get lost!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima still wouldn’t move. Instead, he stood up properly, towering himself over Oikawa, like a tree that would not be uprooted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s stuff you need to know. Things you would never guess. You need to know them, Sugawara needs to know them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa was stunned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Off,” he hissed through clenched teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima stared back unphased. “Even if I tell you, you won’t believe me, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa scoffed. “Like I’d pay attention to you enough to be affected by whatever lies you’re telling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima nodded, and stepped away from the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa put the key in the lock, and opened the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was about to close the door, when Ushijima’s hand caught it midway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just one thing,” his eyes caught Oikawa’s and locked them firmly in his gaze, “Be careful. And tell that boss of yours to be very careful. If he wants to keep on touching things that should never have been touched, he needs to watch his back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know you started doing crack while watching one too many episodes of Criminal Minds, Ushiwaka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima’s grip on the door gave way, and Oikawa took the opportunity to slam it shut, locking it immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa pressed down the seed of worry that threatened to germinate in the pit of his stomach. Automatically, he made his way to his room, dumped all his bags on the floor, placed his camera gear on his desk, and fell on his bed. Fully clothed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should really take a shower.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, smelling fabric softener. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll just lie here for five minutes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He lay there for much longer than five minutes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey guys, i'm sorry for taking a whole month to update this fic, gosh.<br/>there is no good reason, except for the fact that it really did take me a month to get over my panic-driven doubt about every single sentence that i wrote lol.<br/>i will try to update at least once a month, but i want to aim for at least a chapter every two weeks.<br/>i don't know how many of you are returning readers, but for those of you who do care enough about this story i am desperately hoping to do justice, i thank you all :) </p><p>anyway, apologies done for. i hope this chapter was satisfying, and i hope all of you are doing well and staying safe. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. domestic felicity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: descriptions of blood </p><p>for some reason, i listened to "tous les mêmes" by stromae while writing this</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was not Oikawa’s alarm that woke him, but the incessant ringing of his phone. He groaned and felt around on his bedside table for the device. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” he yawned as he pressed the phone to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa, we need to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any hope that his day would start off good was shattered. Oikawa sat upright, his face already furrowed into a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to leave me the fuck alone, Ushijima.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I told you that if you don’t listen, everything will fall apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Everything?” Oikawa tugged at his hair, “What’s that even supposed to mean, my guy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few seconds of pause on the other side of the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you let me talk, you would know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if you had something worth knowing, you would have already told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t talk to you if you aren’t even going to try to believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ushijima gave an oddly audible inhale. “Oik-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa hung up. He did not have time for this. A few seconds of blankly staring at the wall later, he dropped down on the bed again, and silenced his phone. His head spun in a post wake-up daze, and now he had to contend with all the voices he had tried so hard to put to sleep the night before. Which he would have done, very successfully, if not for Ushiwaka coming back to haunt him. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to calm back down, taking controlled inhales and exhales as he kept count on his fingers the length of each breath. It was a tactic he used in highschool to settle his nerves whenever he was going to play a particularly stressful match. He let his consciousness drift, float around him, until darkness claimed him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BAM BAM BAM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like someone was ramming against the walls of his head. The sound was violent, jarring, unable to ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BAM BAM BAM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa flew up out of his bed. It was the sound of someone hammering at his front door. Oikawa stepped out of his room, careful not to make a noise, and made his way to the door of his apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BAM BAM BAM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound was urgent and demanding, making Oikawa’s heart race with adrenaline. Who on earth would come knocking at his door? Ushijima’s name came to mind, and Oikawa willed it with all his might to not be so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he reached the door, Oikawa looked through the peephole, straight at the distorted, tear-streaked face of Daichi. He was carrying something on his back, though Oikawa could not make out what, and hammered at Oikawa’s door for dear life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately Oikawa unlocked his door, and Daichi almost fell into his apartment, his fist still raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daichi, what-” Oikawa’s sentence quickly died in his throat. Daichi’s face was bruised, and a sharp smell of iron filled the air. However, it was what Daichi carried on his back that caused the fear that had started to grip Oikawa’s heart to take hold. There was a head of silver hair that lolled on Daichi’s back, arms that hung lifelessly over Daichi’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daichi slumped to the floor, letting Sugawara’s unconscious body drop to the floor with him. He was unmoving, silver hair matted with dried blood, and a shirt dyed dark red by a wound Oikawa could not see. Oikawa stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what was happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-hospital. Daichi!” Oikawa found his voice again, but Daichi was still slumped over, just as lifeless as Sugawara. The only difference was that Daichi was clearly still breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daichi! Why did you bring him here? We need to, the hospital…” Oikawa trailed off when Daichi lifted his head and stared Oikawa straight in the eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is your fault,” Daichi’s eyes were dull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daichi clenched his jaw. “I told you, Oikawa. I asked you. To look after him. To make sure this doesn’t happen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight of the accusation crashed down on Oikawa. This could not be. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Sugawara had been fine when he last saw him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daichi I didn’t know, I- I- he was fine! I promise!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked you! Look at what you did! This is all your fault!” Daichi’s voice rose to a scream, his fists clenched, his dull eyes now spitting fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My fault. All my fault.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa dropped to his knees next to Sugawara’s still motionless body. The smell of iron filled his nostrils. He stretched out his shaking hands and lifted the blood-stained shirt to reveal a pale torso, the whiteness of the skin a stark contrast to the three round wounds that blemished it with a violent red. It was jarring, and through his mind flew reckless thoughts, ideas scrambling to formulate a plan of help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is all your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa tried to look up at Daichi, but everything was blurry. When he rubbed at his eyes to try and clear his vision, his hands came away wet with tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know, I… I didn’t know,” Oikawa let his eyes fall on Sugawara again, the chest that did not move, the too-red wounds, the face that seemed even more pale than usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara,” the name left his throat with a choke. Oikawa stretched out his hand, and his unsteady finger barely touched the entry wound when he gagged, the contents of his stomach rising to his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if triggered, the wounds on Sugawara’s body started to bleed. Sugawara’s body convulsed, once, twice, a third time, as if the bullets were entering him again. The blood started to flow from the wounds, bubbling out, covering Sugawara’s body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No… no no, no. No!” It was all he could do. Oikawa reached out his hands. There was blood everywhere, it pooled around his knees. It was impossible, how could this be real? Oikawa pressed his hands to the bullet wounds, but the blood flowed stronger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daichi, help me!” the desperation that filled his chest, that caused his hands to shake, it was unnatural. His cool head had left him and fear dictated his every action, his every stammer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you this was going to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t Daichi’s voice. Oikawa looked up at the source of the voice. He was sitting where Daichi sat, looking at him the way Daichi had, but the face was unmistakably Ushijima’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daichi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The face that looked at Oikawa flickered, and it was Daichi again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your fault.” The face flickered, and Daichi, no, it was Ushijima again, stood up, and towered over where Oikawa was still knelt next to Sugawara, the blood flow showing no signs of ceasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you this would happen,” Ushijima’s face said, “you killed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked you to take care of him. You couldn’t even do that.” Daichi’s face spoke words that were not new to Oikawa’s ears, but this time they cut like knives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… no but it can’t.” Oikawa could not breathe. He looked down at Sugawara’s face, the blood that still flowed, his own hands slick with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara,” Oikawa grabbed the man’s face in his hands, “Sugawara, wake up. Wake up! Wake up. Please, I’m sorry. Wake up! Wake up!” He pulled the body towards him, clung to it as if holding his chest to Sugawara’s would somehow heal the fatal wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wake up! Wake up! Sugawara, wake up!” Something within Oikawa snapped, and he let out a scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When Oikawa awoke with a jolt, he was still screaming. His room was dark, his shirt damp, his breath ragged. Throwing off the covers, he jumped out of bed and nearly tripped over his bag that he had left on the floor the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It was a dream, of course it was a dream.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, Oikawa’s addled mind did not rest until he flicked on the living room light. The paranoia that he might find a body lying on the floor was eradicated by the illumination of the room, although it did take a few more minutes before his breathing finally returned to normal. By that time he was fully awake, and the details of the nightmare had already started to fade. The nagging anxiety still remained, however, and did not leave. Not even when Oikawa checked his call log to find that there were no early morning calls from Ushijima. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His anxieties still not banished, Oikawa sunk to the floor and pulled his legs to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s fine, he’s fine. Of course he’s fine. You absolutely don’t need to call him and be a little bitch about a dream,” Oikawa said out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Since when have I been this soft? This is seriously not a good look on me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For all his self-berating, he could still not shake the residual panic, and after he had stared Sugawara’s contact information on his phone for about 10 minutes, he pressed the call button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It rang. Once, twice. By the third ring, Oikawa started to feel incredibly foolish and was just about to hang up when a voice sounded on the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa?” Sure enough, it was Sugawara, completely fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m an idiot.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara, sorry to bother you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I didn’t realise you were quite such an early riser.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa started, he had not even thought to check the time. He glanced at his phone and saw that it was 6 am. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well. I’m a fucking idiot.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I’m… sorry. Did I wake you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all. I was working.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At six in the morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes. Don’t sound so surprised when you’re the one calling me,” Sugawara sounded amused, “So, what do you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa realised he had forgotten to come up with any pretext at all for why he was calling Sugawara.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Oikawa racked his brain for anything, anything at all that would be viable to use as a reason, “I was wondering about the boats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The boats?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before you ask, you still have to head out on Monday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave a chuckle. “You see right through me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s to be expected. I am your senpai, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I am humbled in your presence Sugawara-senpai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you should be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa was not sure what to say next. He could hang up, he should hang up, but there wasn’t any natural way to break off the call. And besides, then he would have to be with his thoughts and anything was better than that. He felt a little embarrassed, it felt like he had been losing his bravado as of late, but he didn’t quite feel like putting on a cocky facade at the moment. Luckily for him, the problem of choice was removed when Sugawara spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although I’m sure escaping picture-taking was such an important thing that you had to call me,” Sugawara cleared his throat, “at 6 am on a Saturday morning, I gather that you must have quite a lot on your mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa grew hot with embarrassment. Of course Sugawara wouldn’t be deceived by his weak attempt at a cover-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” was his lame answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. It’s my fault, I suppose? Yesterday was a bit of an info dump, and nothing I’ve been doing for the past few weeks really helped prep you for that.” Sugawara sounded genuinely apologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, must you force me to swallow my pride like this?” Oikawa hoped it sounded as careless as he meant it to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, a double apology then. How dare I injure you like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa chuckled. “No harm, no foul. I’ll adjust. I always do. Besides, like I said before, this is nothing I can’t handle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Well then, I look forward to seeing your photographs on Monday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still your boss though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny, Sugawara,” Oikawa paused, “I still owe you a ukulele serenade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you do. Not this weekend, I’m afraid. But yes, I will believe you lying until proven otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be so wooed by my skills that you’ll have to swallow those words Mr. Boss-man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa was unendingly thankful for the lighter turn the conversation had taken. His anxieties could be ignored, and he could maintain the little bit of dignity he still was keeping up in front of Sugawara. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Sugawara chuckled, “bye, Oikawa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye Sugawara.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart lighter, and mind calmed, Oikawa gave a sigh. He could now go about his day with relative ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he remembered that it was 6 am, and thus he was awake at the crack of dawn with nothing to do. He could try to go to sleep again, but the chances of that happening were as good as seeing Washijo naked on top of Tokyo tower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unable to do anything about his predicament, Oikawa dragged himself to the kitchen. With mechanical movements, he pressed the buttons on his coffee machine and waited for it to brew a fresh pot. Only when he had yawned his second gaping yawn, did he realise that the reason he was feeling so stiff and uncomfortable, was because he was still dressed in the clothes he had worn the previous day. It dawned on him that this may also have contributed to his nightmares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me?” Oikawa moaned, “What an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coffee machine beeped, and his good humours that were originally semi-restored now gave way to an even more dejected and irritable Oikawa, who poured himself a cup of the liquid. When he sat down at the kitchen counter, he brought the cup of coffee to his lips and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately spat it back out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow, ow, ow, son of a bitch!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coffee was still piping hot, and above all else he had forgotten to add milk. Which was something he could not drink the coffee without. Oikawa stood in the kitchen for a good minute, feeling sorry for himself. He thought the weekend would bring him rest and relaxation, but instead it had brought him; a nightmare, misplaced anxiety, an awkward and embarrassing phone call, frustration and pain. In that order. What a wonderful day this was shaping up to be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Oikawa had finally dealt with everything the morning had been throwing him he decided that since he was awake anyway, he might as well do something productive. With that in mind, he donned his workout leggings, pulled on a pair of shorts, a white t-shirt and black sneakers. Grabbing the rest of his essentials and stuffing them into a bag, Oikawa made his way out of his apartment. The initial shock of the cold winter air hit him, familiar in the way it bit his nose and drained the warmth from his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, Spring cannot come too early.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa shook his head, pressed his earphones in his ears, and started jogging at an easy pace to Bokuto’s gym. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey hey hey! Look who it is!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa heard Bokuto’s voice as soon as he stepped foot in the gym. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s hard, but contain your excitement whenever you see me, Boku-chan. Akaashi might get the wrong idea.” The run had cleared his mind, and after Bokuto’s enthusiastic greeting, Oikawa felt a little more like life might be going his way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto bounded towards him, and slung his arm around Oikawa’s shoulder, pulling him into what felt more like a chokehold than what it was supposed to be, which was a hug. Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa,” he scolded, “I know you think you’re king of the ring, but you don’t have a chance when it comes to Akaashi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would be offended, but it’s you. So I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa snorted dismissively and tightened his hold on Oikawa, which resulted in Oikawa frantically slapping Bokuto’s arm in a vain attempt at signalling surrender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let go, you meathead!” Oikawa gasped</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me I’m great and my boyfriend is the most beautiful person in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re below average and I would bang Akaashi in a heartbeat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The onslaught worsened until Oikawa caved and admitted defeat, finally released from Bokuto’s death grip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Bokuto climbed through the ropes and into the ring, “what did Suga do this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Oikawa followed Bokuto into the ring, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, usually when you come to me this early in the morning it’s because something happened at work and you need to punch your frustrations away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave Bokuto a sour look. “You make me sound like someone who suffers from roid rage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the shoe fits,” Bokuto strapped on his gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an ass,” Oikawa thought for a second, “Do I really do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah my guy. Although,” Bokuto looked up from his hands to give Oikawa a curious glance, “You haven’t really been doing that lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa did not reply, and focused instead on strapping on his own gloves. He did not need a curious Bokuto in the morning. Especially when he didn’t know what Bokuto was trying to get at. Bokuto, however, was like a dog unwilling to let go of a bone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually you’d come in here like ‘Ugh, boats’, ‘Belgh, Sugawara the slave-driver’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa shot Bokuto a glare, “I don’t sound like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do, I’m really good at impressions.” The self-satisfied expression on Bokuto’s face evoked a snort from Oikawa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto gave one of his eye-blinding grins and slapped his gloved fists together. “C’mon Oikawa, stop pussy-footing around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s the one pussy-footing?” Oikawa mumbled under his breath, as he moved towards Bokuto, dodging the first fist that flew his way.</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a cathartic hour that Oikawa spent in the boxing ring with Bokuto. Bokuto was especially quippy that day, which simultaneously made it difficult to focus, and easier to take a hit at him. All in all, when they finished, Oikawa’s muscles ached in exactly the right ways, and his breath burned his lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice bro!” Bokuto said, and slapped Oikawa on the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m dead,” Oikawa panted, “and you look like you’ve just warmed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto laughed. “It’s ‘cause this is my job, and I’m great at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa shook his head in amazement. Some people were just built differently. He stood up, high-fived Bokuto and headed to the showers. Arguably the best part of a workout with Bokuto was being able to finish it, and the feeling was reinforced as Oikawa stepped into the hot showers, the sweat being washed away by the near-scalding water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bokuto was waiting for him outside when he came out of the shower, his back leaned against the wall facing the bathroom entrance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you headed now?” Bokuto asked, and fell into step with Oikawa as he walked to the front door of the gym.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. I don’t know. I have the whole day to myself. I planned to sleep half of it away, but as you know. Here I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto opened the door of the gym for Oikawa, and let in a chilly breeze in the process. “You should go and check with Akaashi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Oikawa gave a shudder as he stepped outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t been hanging out with us my man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well,” Oikawa ran his hand through his hair, “I have been busy. But don’t worry,” he flashed a cocky smile, “I will grace the two of you with my glorious beauty soon enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto sniggered, and shoved Oikawa out of the door. “Go grace Akaashi, I’m tired of looking at your annoying mug. He’s at the shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sells even in this weather?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s summer somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa shook his head, and gave Bokuto a wave as he made his way away from the gym.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa took Bokuto’s words seriously. He really had not been around his friends, other than having played middle man for Daichi, and having met up with Iwaizumi. Besides meeting up with Makki and Matsun every once in a while, Bokuto and his boyfriend Akaashi were the only friends he really had in Tokyo. After he had retired from professional volleyball, he had met Bokuto through the gym and they naturally became friends. It was a combination of Bokuto’s enthusiasm and Oikawa’s need for companionship that had forged the odd friendship. Certainly the fact that Bokuto turned out to be gay did not hurt. To have someone who understood the struggles of being a queer Japanese man, this was something very rare to find. Admittedly, Bokuto with his laid-back way of approaching life was not quite the right person to try and have emotional conversations with. Akaashi, however, proved to be someone who cast a listening ear, the likes of which Oikawa had not had in a very long time. Ending his professional career and returning to Tokyo, not to mention the messy breakup with Ushijima, had made him feel Iwaizumi’s absence intensely. Akaashi, who held a similar demeanor than his estranged best friend without the familiarity of being childhood best friends, was someone who added incalculable value to Oikawa’s life as a sounding board. Even if the quiet man did start pouring wine not even halfway through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation with Bokuto and his reminiscence of his and Akaashi’s friendship was how Oikawa naturally found himself making his way to Akaashi’s place of work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Floristries were never a place Oikawa often found himself, much less in the winter time. For all his flirting, he had been in less serious relationships than he had fingers on one hand. Even counting his flirtations, none of the women, or the men for that matter, that he pursued, were particularly fond of flowers. To be fair to them, maybe they were, but even if that were true, Oikawa had not spent enough time trying to figure out if that was indeed the case. Since meeting Akaashi, however, there had been a few select times when Oikawa did step through that threshold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the summer, the doors of Akaashi’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shiroi Himawari </span>
  </em>
  <span>were flung wide open. Flowers were packed outside in various assortments, different arrangements, growing from pots of different sizes and colours, a veritable rainbow. One went to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shiroi Himawari </span>
  </em>
  <span>for flowers, and everyone knew this. Or at least, Oikawa assumed everyone knew this, as there were always clients walking in and out of this joyful flower shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the dead of winter at the moment though, so Oikawa was unsure about what to expect. As Oikawa approached the shop, he noticed the obvious difference in appearance compared to the last time he had been there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much to Oikawa’s surprise, while the foot traffic was certainly not as heavy as in the warmer months, Akaashi’s shop was anything but quiet. There were no fancy displays arranged outside, but apparently that would not stunt Akaashi. Instead, the large window usually overcrowded by plants was now made the centerpiece. It bore the name of the shop proudly, in white lettering, while its borders were rimmed with white fairy-lights that glinted softly. The shop inside was somehow inviting, with dry flowers hung from the ceiling, their dulled purples and browns  creating an odd warmth. The flowers, all dried, were arranged in glass vases or hung from pieces of twine that stretched across the walls or from one side of the shop to the other. Although not vibrant in their colours, there was a charm to the faded reds and yellows, the whites, dark pinks and silvery greys that characterised the flowers. The door of the shop opened, and a woman carrying a bouquet of these dried flowers, wrapped in brown paper, hurried past Oikawa. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Huh. So you can buy flowers in the winter.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa stood outside a while longer. He enjoyed looking in through the window, playing at being a passer-by. Oikawa’s state of reverie was broken when someone in the shop waved at him. His attention caught, he looked at a smiling Akaashi who gestured for him to come inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shop was as warm as it looked from the outside, and the drifting aromas of cinnamon and incense only added to the feeling as the chill left his bones, replaced with smells of a cozier wintertime rarely experienced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oikawa, you came,” the faintest traces of a smile were playing across Akaashi’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa gave a sheepish laugh. “Of course I did. How could I not, when Bokuto was threatening me with certain death?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, sure. We both know you wouldn’t have come if you didn’t feel like it.” Akaashi moved from behind the counter where he had been standing, and walked over to Oikawa, giving him a firm handshake and looked him straight in the eyes. Before Oikawa had the chance to say anything, a woman spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me? I would like to buy these-” Akaashi patted Oikawa on the shoulder, “We’ll talk now,” and quickly went back to where he was standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa watched as Akaashi placed an assortment of yellow and orange flowers Oikawa did not recognise into a brown paper bag and gave it to the woman, who left with a smile and a thank you. The transaction completed, Akaashi made his way to Oikawa once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Oikawa searched around for a topic, “the floristry business still treating you well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi nodded. “I realise it more and more every year. Quitting my job at Shonen Jump was probably the best thing I could have done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa raised his eyebrow. Akaashi rarely talked about his first job, and only ever in passing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It had nothing to do with the company, it’s just that the particular line of work is a lot of stress and I had no idea how to manage it without burning myself out completely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would’ve thought that managing and owning your own shop would be more stressful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, you would think that. But no, at least I don’t have anyone screaming at me about deadlines, or that I need to put in even more overtime that I will never get paid for. Also, three hours of sleep a night really wasn’t cutting it for me after I turned twenty-two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A drastic change then,” Oikawa said, looking around the shop. The entire vibe was indeed an entirely different universe from what Akaashi had described.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of drastic changes,” Akaashi said, trying to catch Oikawa’s eye, “Bokuto mentioned that you were working with Suga?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa sighed. “What is it with you two and bringing up Sugawara?” he ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, “Whenever someone that isn’t Sugawara talks to me, it’s about Sugawara. I’m not the fountain of Sugawara-knowledge. It’s not like I’m his lover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa cringed inwardly at himself. He had no idea where that snappy reply had come from. The morning’s events came rushing back to his mind, the nightmare, the phone call. Not to mention the fact that what he was saying was technically true. Within the first few days of knowing Sugawara, Oikawa had been appointed as his keeper. Then there was the incident with Ushijima practically assaulting Oikawa just so he could talk to Sugawara. Or at least talk to Oikawa about Sugawara.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to get defensive, Oikawa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a gust of cold air, and Akaashi nodded at someone who had entered the store. He turned his attention back to Oikawa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All I know is that you moan to Bokuto about him occasionally, so I thought I’d ask. Suga’s an old friend, an old friend that I have seen very little of these past few months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi’s serious expression caused a twinge of guilt in Oikawa’s chest, but the man was not done talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t really move in our friendship circle, there are a few of us who’ve been trekking along since college and even highschool. We’re close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi sighed. “Since coming back from New York, instead of spending more time with us, Koushi just met with us less and less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is this going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi continued, unbothered. “What I’m trying to say is, Koushi was already not showing up whenever we got together, but when he had his falling out with Daichi, we all started getting really worried. It’s unlike him. And you’re the only person who sees him regularly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not his keeper,” Oikawa mumbled, “First Daichi, now you. What’s so great about him anyway? Besides,” he jammed his hands in his jacket pocket, “if you’re close enough with him to refer to him by his first name, you should be able to pick up the phone and call him, no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi gave a wry smile, shook his head, and gave Oikawa a slap on the back so hard Oikawa could swear he felt his spine click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly, you don’t know our Sugawara Koushi. I shouldn’t have bothered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oikawa asked indignantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another gust of cold wind came in from behind as someone entered the store, and Akaashi stepped forward to attend to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Oikawa grabbed Akaashi’s sleeve, “what do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, just what I said. By the by, come over tonight? I will be the one being threatened by Bokuto if he finds out I didn’t convince you to stop over for some beer and take out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oikawa sighed, dropped Akaashi’s arm and gave one of his signature grins. “Sure, I need something to lift my spirits anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Akaashi turned to his customer. Oikawa took one last look around the shop, and then he was headed out the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa ended up spending the rest of his Saturday moving from one room in his apartment to another, either to just stare blankly at walls, or to stare out of a window. At some point there was a fair bit of staring at the television when, for some bizarre reason, it was showing reruns of an old sci-fi show he used to love. Even then, he felt like the images and sounds were bouncing off a brick wall in his brain. There was too much rabble rousing in his thoughts, and it was starting to tire him. That was why, at 5 pm, he dazedly picked up his phone and called Bokuto, telling the overjoyed man that he would be coming over, but only if Bokuto paid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all his reservations about going, Oikawa ended up enjoying himself immensely. There were about 20 minutes where Akaashi tried to pry him for information about Sugawara, but when Akaashi saw that it made Oikawa clam up completely, he dropped the subject. The overexcited Bokuto bought way too much beer, Oikawa ate an egregious amount of fried chicken, and Akaashi rolled his eyes so much Oikawa thought they might roll out of their sockets. Bokuto drank too much, too fast, which resulted in him clinging to Akaashi and professing his undying love in the most random of situations. Akaashi did his best to fend him off, but when Bokuto started gushing about Akaashi to Oikawa instead of paying attention to the games they were trying to play, Akaashi looked ready to run away. Seeing them so happy together was a strange comfort to Oikawa. It briefly crossed his mind that he would not mind to have what they had, but overcoming his tipsy mushy feelings, he instead just laughed at Akaashi’s misery. In the end, Oikawa left their apartment much fuller and warmer than he had entered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oikawa hoped to catch the last train, and made his way through the night as quickly as his semi-tipsy body would let him. Luckily the cold air was helping sober him up, and as he walked, the lightest of snow started to fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, I feel quite lucky, somehow,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day had left him feeling uncomfortable, but the night with his friends had improved his mood astronomically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he reached </span>
  <span>Shinanomachi Station’s bridge, two girls walked past him and he picked up the trail end of their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think he’s okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s so handsome, but why would he make such an expression?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was he crying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their voices faded. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yikes, someone is having a rough night.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thanking his luck that he wasn’t the topic of such a conversation, Oikawa made his way to the entrance of the station. As he approached, a dark figure sat on the ground caught his eye. The man had his back against the railings of the bridge, and his face was lit by the cigarette that dangled from his mouth. This must be the man the two girls were talking about. Oikawa got even closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not a lot of people have silver hair…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The man lifted his head, resting it back against the railing, illuminating his face in the city glow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugawara?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter is not at all what i set out to write. <br/>i've deleted and rewritten this about a million times, and everyone on my twitter is sick of my rants lmao.<br/>i hope you enjoy it though!</p><p>also i didn't edit this super thoroughly so plz forgive me university is kicking my ass</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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